Police Report, November 25, 2007

Language became important,

and weak in its upper body. He said:

“I’m going to break your fingers.” I said:

“You are not going to break my fingers.”

Somebody else appeared as the result

of a preexistent narrative: he hammered

into my forehead a cipher.

My heart is going, I can’t tell the story

unless the story is that my heart was going.

The password purpled in my skin.

Also little fragments all over my knuckles:

-ear, -frai-, -ared, -yin- —

I thought I want to go to where I am only

hitting and never have to listen. The air heard

the speech of my body: it opened.

It parted and I scarred easily through it.