You know like a pinboard once stuck with pins has permanent holes. You can use them again, the holes, without having to punch more all over its surface. That is my back, stabbed in places with open wounds. Stab me in the back now. In the crevices between gorges of blood and sinew, the notches have already been carved. Knife-shaped indents, waiting to be filled because it cannot tell the difference now whether the pin completes the board or penetrates it. They are together as one.
No comments:
Post a Comment