Fun with clay

Palpable moving, solid but soft,

The feeling in my hand,

First movements of rolling into a ball,

How flat can this get? What am I feeling? As I pat it, cold, soft.

Cold tingles, my power of it, delicate movements, the feel of it warming,

Repetition, where are my thoughts?

The feeling of it and the weight of it consume me.

Pinch. How far can it go before it breaks?

Can I roll it between my palms, back and forth?

Ah need to take my rings off,

It moves over my hand bones and skin

I hold it between my fingers,

Squeeze it,

Push my fingers in,

All spongy as my fingernails create patterns.

How about if I make small balls and push them onto my toes?

Surround and push,

Mould and then peal off,

Perfect imprints of the skin and toenails.

Pressing a piece against my teeth,

The cold clay seems to stick,

The feeling of it tightening against them

A perfect mould, my imperfections captured.

What would it look like if I chewed it?

Bitten into,

Lumps chewed and spat out,

The mauled lumps of wet cement pile up fizzing with spit.

Nails stuck in, hard metal skewered into grey dough,

Sharp and hard piercing the malleable and soft

How much cotton, thread and wool can I coil around it?

Can I cut it with cotton?

Can I segment and dissect with thread?

Make a ball of an unlikely combination.

Drive over it, throw it, press it against my eyes,

Kiss it and see how much goes around my neck….