Unwritten

The Olivettes.

Not exactly a peice of writing....

Untitled (poke!)

A body liberated from context
Arouses the heavy truth: Often, our bodies are not our own
And it’s not just about violence.
Every time I encounter my reflection, I look at the concave space above my knees.
Every mirror and dark window every day for years.
Say one word over and over that many times, and it ceases to refer to anything.
The sound that’s left is free and open and polymorphous
Suddenly, anything could happen.

As such,
In all the dark windows
My body reduces in units
Propagates, organizes, forms a union, a cabaret, a front line.
And advances.