Such pain is beyond metaphor. The scream
a monosyllabic wail into an
embodiment of flesh. We are just nerves
strung across bones, violins singing a
song of the self in a contrapuntal
line inscribing the parameters of
the lives we live out. Yet we still want more
the lives we live out. Yet we still want more
. . .now.
Together we console, but our lives are
ours to live alone despite the constant
call to return. The struggle to escape
the razor slices and the pummeling,
to untangle the spider’s soft cocoon,
leaves us numb to agony’s cold white noise.
(from the serial poem, “primogenitive folly” August 2001-April 2003)
subtext 