The Lung Library

One of my lungs is a papier-mâché replica of an inverted owl, the other the actual diving bell used by cicadas to explore the ocean floor.


This was biker-cicadas, cyber-cicadas, anyone. They wouldn’t even sign the register. Eventually I issued them with tiny lung library cards.


It wasn’t clear what the cicadas were looking for on the ocean floor. Most I got out of them was ‘Moon Cicada say so’ on the ouija board…


Of course while they were down there in my lung, I had to lie very still not breathing much, and so I had these repeated near-death experiences.


It was so regular, in my brain I’d just check into the Near Death Motel, a little joint on the event horizon run by Mrs Pneumonia Friend.


Regulars were Captain Anoxia, a retired astronaut, and Bluenose the Pirate. We’d lie in the darkened dining room and tell tales of breathing.


All our dead pressed themselves against the Light Fences and called to us to join them. Ceaseless rivers of moths poured into their mouths.


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