Every strong word is followed by
a soft one with jagged teeth
and a crooked smile. Every gentle
touch is sealed in the folded fingers
of a shaking palm
Behind my head is the spiraling mind of a child with no escape route.
If every word can be solidified with nothing but a mass of more words in dominoes,
then I guess words mean nothing at all and are paradoxes of themselves.
Love is just a sound the tongue makes against teeth.
Hate is just a throat’s vibrations in an echoing chamber through the esophagus.
The mind is just a passageway of sounds with no meaning, and we ought to use our fingers instead.
