Police Report, November 25, 2007
Language became important,
and weak in its upper body. He said:
“I’m going to break your fingers.” I said:
“You are not going to break my fingers.”
Somebody else appeared as the result
of a preexistent narrative: he hammered
into my forehead a cipher.
My heart is going, I can’t tell the story
unless the story is that my heart was going.
The password purpled in my skin.
Also little fragments all over my knuckles:
-ear, -frai-, -ared, -yin- —
I thought I want to go to where I am only
hitting and never have to listen. The air heard
the speech of my body: it opened.
It parted and I scarred easily through it.