17/100
100 poems/52 weeks challenge’ 2018
Art by mousette
My hands
knocking
in open air,
and I am disposed off
time
Largely, a can of vacuum,
self-referentiality,
disunity,
and breaking down to the point
that when you’re knocking at a certain door,
begging for alms,
you’re not even standing there–
for you’ve committed a crime against yourself
and you cannot exist because
a. you exist when what you want is yours & it is not now
b. you exist when you no longer have the want & it is not now.
And so I am always in a limbo
staring into a space
of waiting.
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