measuring the static
when it’s hijacked the arm of a boxcutter, the knife
its veins good
when it won’t hurt much, when it doesn’t limn
when it won’t wrench the face away from you
anyone
when it takes on being what it wants to be from the wood, when it takes on being lacquer
and when it takes on being permeated
when it’s all wet, and the baseboard is shiny
when it loses its own color become translucent the night become all glass all texture
when it becomes clean
when it’s all over and there is no one, no one, that I want to talk to more, when it’s limned
when it’s like that I’ve been there with some of you already
and I’ve peeled you away from that
when it’s been there some time for you your wrists your arms your chest taped
together, and I am tape, and I appear
like an X fashioned in the window with an X on it
(and the crow is out)
when it’s cruel, and I am afraid
and a warlord
pressed hard into you
and the fear escaped me
when after having seen you your wrists we cross in a mirror that was conceived so beautifully
I come over with a knife
designed to get the shape, and I rob it
when it’s not me but my agility, your agility
when we’ve become predatory, and proud
when it’s drawn
when it’s given up when it’s pinched it’s nothing
celluloid when it comes up the whole strip
breaks, when it’s awkward, when it makes us get on our knees to peel it