I am that dream that enters
you like a death
without ...
I am
existence without certainty
I am the crossed limit, the boundary
blurred at the edges
the script erasing itself, the
page crumbling like dry leaf—
what is dry has once been sweat
and all the other fluids
painstakingly washed away
but never with full success,
without a trace,
I am the face you had lost
in the moments before the mirror
when the person there was no longer
comparable, almost identifiable,
except by its singularity, or what
vulgarity calls uniqueness.
I am the moment
outside of cessation, I am
the break of the pause I am
who you await each day like
a faithful dog (have you begun
do be insulted,
or were you so already marked?)
I am the force you resist
I am the dirt gathering war
under my fingers nail biting
promise of failure I am the life
you refuse.