De Toto Corpore he bewails and stretches his neck forward in his dilated nostrils the dense air disperses in and out the thickly whiteness in his nose freezes when he reaches the cold bars with his tongue ruckles smacks his lips on his bloody eyes voluptuously his bushy eyebrow falls until the drop of saline drools towards it his false delight he slobbers extensively and chokes up near the eyelid wide open luringly shimmers the salt ball within his hazy desire grows and nears his entire body shaking when the taste numbs him voluptuously his moving tongue
his numb body his voluptuous pain goes through his limb he lifts his head languidly he stretches allowing buzzing flies to swirl around his goopy eye
Rachael eyed her suspiciously and did not respond to Tyne’s greeting. Tyne followed the doctor into the kitchen which reeked of decaying food and sour milk. She saw a small sandy-haired boy sitting at a littered table, barely able to see over the dirty dishes and pots. Bare feet with curled up toes stuck straight out from his chair. He had his chin propped in one hand, while the other clutched a glass half full of milk. He wore pajamas that looked as if they were overdue for a good wash. Tyne walked across the kitchen, being careful to sidestep the litter on the floor. “Hello,” she said, “you must be Bobby.” He nodded briefly, but did not reply. “Have you had your breakfast, Bobby?” Tyne asked gently. He shook his head from side to side. She glanced at his sister, but before she could speak, Rachael blurted defensively, “He’s had a piece of bread; that’s all there was. He wants some corn flakes but there ain’t any.” Tyne shot Dr. Dunston a helpless glance, and noticed his normally placid features take on a look of disgust. He peered down at the little girl. “Where’s your dad, Rachael?” She pointed to a closed door at the far end of the kitchen. “He ain’t up yet.” Dr. Dunston strode to the door Rachael indicated and rapped loudly. “Corky! Get up, you lazy son-of … you lazy lout. Your kids are hungry.” Muffled grunts could be heard through the door, accompanied by the creak of bed springs. “Whatdaya want? It’s still night.” “It’s nine o’clock, Corky. Come out here, I want to talk to you.” Whether or not the object of Dr. Dunston’s ire knew who stood on the other side of the door, Tyne had no idea, but she raised her eyebrows when, in only a few minutes, the door opened and a disheveled Corky Conrad emerged.
Manolis Aligizakis 