breakwall

Forget poetry.
Forsake prose.
Let it sink
to the bottom
of a line
that cuts
the heart
from the human condition,
knowing nothing less
than Shakespeare will do.
Forget Lacan.
This megalomaniacal art
snaps the line
of human decency.
Springs past
all the deterritorialized zones
of someone else's pain,
erases them
for as long as it suits the play
and then
resurfaces,
with the same literary canapés.
Such strange transmissions.
Radio eraser head,
as if
anything man-made
could ever really break
the play
of natural forces
that holds one up.
And
did
you
think
I
would
not
notice
your
incapacity
to
care
beyond
your
self?