Without the words I have no claim in the form or shape of the world
or the forming or shaping of the words that tell us that form and shape
Unless I can say "I do" and say,
"Like a comet falling into the ocean, I am going to push back the land to see what's under."
and mean it.
I write because if I didn't my fists would be free
and they'd punch windows and make deals under tables or covers
and fuck if they wouldn't tear away at my body
the body that makes them want,
and if I keep punching in these windows I'm going to start bleeding
I could be so god damn human so as to bleed
and it wouldn't stop,
and it would never stop.
So I write.
Because if I don't I know I'd start to strip
peel away like yellow paint on the oldest walls
slowly, with a practiced languor
the kind that makes men say stupid things
like, "his neck is nice to kiss."
to giggle uncontrollably.
I'd be dangerous.
I'd be temporary.
I write because when I'm writing you can touch me,
unlike now
when though you might think you are
it's really just rubber burning under your fingers
and I'm long gone.
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