My name is

wound :

open

violence

open   e trating

silence

 

write    wound                         across my chest;

scratches, marks in blood

in flesh

 

pull me screaming from the silence:             word

into this world of darkness

[my death: certified]

 

in blueblack ink

suspension

of time

 

[iron: gall]

the bitter stain

of words

piercing

fibres

of [my] flesh &

this world

to remain there

more than death:

eternity

 

calling [me] into being

calling [me] from [myself]

like needle      sharp

drawing [blood from]

drawing [ink upon]

my skin

 

 

immediacy of [my] death

is

infinite

space

 

between

 

[my] past and

[your] future

 

insert

into that space

the steel edge

of thorn tip

scribing

[my] sang : [your] encre

spills                out                   upon

this flesh [wound]

unbound

liquid

life

 

in habiting

in finite

space[s]

in between

 

[our] fate

 

and i see                                  i am

writereader

of this book

 

the spaces in between

[your] page and [mine]

in finitely

[un]bound

 

[my] ink spills

upon

[your] surface

 

word is                        wound

blood is                        silence :

dreaming

[re]creation

in its endless bloody violence
Straif is now published in the anthology #NousSommesParis from Eyewear Publishing, 13 November 2016.