Care is to be spat on
I tried the lacy baby dolls
You bought to pay your ransom
for kidnapped ******* efforts.
So I let her out of the hut. The hut of our love.
Built on guilt and sorry.
I am ravenous
I swallow like mineshafts
She likes to think she makes everything better.
Looking after things well does not make them yours
I would like to say
But I don't say anything
How could I know for sure that there is no justice
And how could she know there is
Picking up wool with your needles
A long straight line turns into a sweater
The rule is that we move towards the unknown
Or away from it
Which one do you want it to be
Hatred rises from below
Reaching the maximum ability of vague comprehension
It starts and ends in the same moment
I can imagine myself without a final point in this Cosmos
Knitting myself out of
the dimension I was destined for
All understanding: science,
merchandisable forms of expression,
manipulates a piece of us but
I am left devastated
No amount of material will make a sweater thick enough
to keep out the universal cold
— The End —