I count on fingers,
there is a knowing in flesh
that trumps all others.
Time demands of us
the return of all its gifts
like angry lovers.
Words are not like knives
Just abstract signifiers
Only knives are knives.
I count on fingers,
there is a knowing in flesh
that trumps all others.
Time demands of us
the return of all its gifts
like angry lovers.
Words are not like knives
Just abstract signifiers
Only knives are knives.