by Stacy Doris

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by Stacy Doris
     If people could feed on themselves which they can, whether in despair or
     Pride, time becomes a circulation, reduced and expanded to that, imitating
     Digestion. Ingesting decomposes any scrap into functions, whereas eating
     Something other than yourself disprove wholeness. What rewards
     Rewording might be justice. Then does response outrun responsibility,
     Overthrow it, so all government's automatic, total, a model of control based
     On nature? If retribution's normal, rule's always enforcing, twisted and
     Abstract: flexed. Then days are contaminated by law, and life's a code,
     Dead yet lethal. Even putrefaction would be saturated thus: the severed
     Hand molder on schedule.
     Perhaps in this way all living's starvation, programmed to regurgitate itself,
     So cutting off supplies would free, while goods stifle. Thus the excuse
     That oneness means bodiless, that what has parts is too bulky for unity.
     Indivisible then implies a corpus subtracted, or, origin in amputation. Any
     Bomb curls back on its unleashing, so mirrors cause and denies effect.
     So repeats; is a refrain. Like all waves, destruction won't break. If so,
     Nobody needs to be alive to go on. State equals machine, but runs only
     By crashing. Each project attacks what may be in place with the corrosive
     Burn of potential. Passivity's the only order: ordains. But breathing counts
     Down. Each movement of respiration encodes terror, which flourishes in
     Everyone thus, in the midst of hunger and abundance, in the speed of love.
     No tourniquet dispels it.