a supplication:
supple surplus skin
“You don’t help,” I say between tortures,
and he (because art
is evenhanded, masochistic)
gasps, “Neither do you.”
my high school search history:
a stack of wishes
Best laid plans of Sylvia Plath lovers go awry.
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let’s get this over with: i hate form. rules
confound me. i break before i bend
most of the time.
blank.
field.
& bigger & louder — & more dangerous
& the machinery of — love roars
The thing that remains is the knowledge that there is another me, who I do not control, who has the ability to take over my body. There is so much about myself that I will never know.
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