I am not a person of politics. My thoughts are not clear and clean as life and death this side and another between above behind and inside each side that is a blind paper sheet this is not me I am not a direction A not is no signifier of what is or what can be my chest twisting into nots huge questions I can't answer gurgling out of my mouth stupid as spit above behind between and inside me, everything twisting. turning. yearning. Then burning. I wish I was clear and clean. (I don't want everything to end like this.) Your sheets do not define me Go away, you origami shapes. you won't take me seriously for the mask on my face. The soft underside- the identity like a penned animal snapped-stick feet. This cold vinyl is an identity I choose. And I have nothing to lose. No my love. You don't want to touch me that way What I have in this hand is sharp. You weren't expecting this were you? Don't cry, It won't hurt it won't--- (Silence among leaves.) ... When I started killing people my reasons were plain--- I circled the answers, crushed the paper in my pockets. I defended... something or another. The legislators were clapping. The townspeople never knew. Then I couldn't explain anything. The paper melted and was sperm. Small mouths bit under my skin. I peeled back inch after inch of thick forearm to let them out. Vampire bats. Then babies. Except they were already half dead crawling on six feet. That day, I woke up and my bathroom mirror was empty. I didn't know anything anymore. Except all my sentences had monsters inside them. People scream when I touch them as they crumble like Xeroxes. There is nothing polite about this. Nothing all of your voices together or divided can fix. I am an anger turned inward, my outer organs gleaming pink in the sun, tracks of red tattooed on them. I am something worn the wrong way. In the kitchen with the sirloin I am learning empathy. The knife through my dinner, through the meat of my hand. We have a bright red thing in common. This pain was meant to be. ... The night is shifting like oils at the top of water. I am separated into a million places. A cow mourns outside my window. Bodiless voices in the street-- There is no comfort anywhere. I limp through singeing grass. You watch me with slow, dark eyes. The air, sweat cold and even. Now, you have the knife.