So many fish in blue water ocean blue flesh scales slick smooth languid eyes reaching pooling. Into dark numbers one living moving thing of decimated pieces still alive and rippled. Even after digested there were. So many oysters on the shore we climbed them like steps up the hillside shells hardened powder. Of bone white dust traced with black the inside of each step a pearl. White pearls crushed in our white teeth still same dust gritty. Sand centered oceans of flesh. Tho her arm slid up and over each razored shell darkened hide velvet sleeve oh mother oh. Thistled gardens on blue water smile razored arm smile lowered eyes dark between each shell.
Here is now cold. Her heart is luminal point red voice changing quite a child natives come. Beneath an inky smoke and sky all red caged. Raccoon caged bird bent head arm straight inviting. Smile reddened lips sanguine mouth mother oh mother vanishing throat pearled strand. Of white barreled heat oval shot warring grass lovely lovely pointed wood. Warring white beach burnt water boat long fire. Hollow sigh sigh sigh loaded gun trapping fur deus ex machina. Vessel whetted white hide hidden heart breast of goose oh do I love thee. Thrushed songs flushed out fever red cries in rain oyster white pearl crushed and lapping blue.
I come all varnished to you beating hands knotted temple gracing skies. All blue here there is land lush and covered. With deerskin garden new and freshed here charted although no industry we see. The make of something ghosted clean and windowed. Crossed although we have no yet. Silo pictured is well advised a gift. A gift oh mother mother oh the blue like driftwood ashed as mothy wings pearl white the other red retreating.
Oh Mother,
I Send My Love
Caketrain is a literary journal and press based in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Our interest is in bringing you, reader, the very best in contemporary creative writing, full stop. Our goals are for each issue of our journal to submerge you in a birthing tank for gelatinous language monsters, young masses of tentacular foci undulating as directed (in all, at once) by our eclectic stable of contributors; for each new book we publish to seduce and ensnare you, sometimes intangibly, always undeniably; and for you, reader, to be able to draw at least one passage from our banks that prods your mind with such precision and power that it feels as if it was written for your eyes alone. To wit and to whet, here is a snippet, a slight nip of our delicious lit mix:
