a sword down my throat
elaborate on
my own blood gurgling
than hear the empty air
whistling in my teeth
than provide narration for
a world that exists only in outline
man--I will not be
nailed spread-eagle
by the cells of my skin
will not be knotted
woven--the swirling atoms
threading my flesh
with wire
nah--and I won't drink it
the fading flush, the
hungry rush--the empty liquor
of desire
when a scream is just
another kind of story
and a plea no more
than fluttering hands
then I'd choose silence
for my sake--combined with violence
and--on the whole--give over worry
for a place unable to calculate,
to compensate--to back with interest
to back at all--what it demands
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