The body spliced by parentheses
Your limbs, slivers
sliced by the sharp arch of that question
mark:
(your places)
(your possessions)
the Other disintegrates against the tyranny of language
People like fetuses enclosed in the womb of syntax
we are all premature
The period pulls you into mourning
decapitation by punctuation
a miscarriage takes place
between those lines.
You shove me between parentheses
or add a comma separating now from then,
soon, later.
Future selves convene and fold the other into boxes
rejoicing in proper nouns
slinging quotation marks like bullets
*
February is being good to me.
C., thank you. You have no idea how much I needed that.
What the fuck am I doing.
I am pleased and happy.
I am glad that you are pleased and happy.
ReplyDeleteThank you. I swing between extremes, such is life.
ReplyDeleteIndeed...people are in love with question marks, and despise certainties when they arise. People are full of shit, that's what they are! The majority are deranged and deformed, as Nietzsche said.
ReplyDeleteWicked write! :D