Saille : Willow

In[scribe]    –

my name:


Sharp, vertical incision to the [inside of my] left wrist.  Traces of blood bubble: red pearls on the string of my inner:outer self.  Border.  Less.  I see my skin unbound.  You knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I unstitch [my] self.  Open to the flow of things to come.

Sharp – intake of breath

the world’s breathing

fills [my] lungs

and moves me, cell by cell: this co respondance


my breathing:your breath

you fill me fill you fill me:

with the


of [y]our breath

As I am filled, I empty.  Piercing horizontal line


a third of the way down

that first vertical:


more red pearls – rising to the surface from unknown unguessable depths


liquid interior

flows [out]


breath of air

flows [in]



out –

Score three more.  Just three more.  Score more.  Be more.  Score.



And with that final score I am: [myself]


re                     made

re                      named

in my [divine] image:


flesh made word


this wound          my name            in flesh

and blood


binds me

to the



the open






[my] border : less

my blood

my song



my ink


its stain

its mark

its bloom





[to those who do not see]

[to those who cannot read]

I give myself this new name to take [back] the power I never had.  Never.  Have.  The things you do [in my name] are not on my behalf.  I add my name to thousands who stand against you – my [blind and silent] voice screams in [dead] air and [nobody] awakes.  This house does not crumble.  Dismembered voice.  Forgotten dreams.  A disembodied silence is my muted cry to [in]different ears.  Inside speech’s silent centre my [sub]atomic bomb explodes:          breaking the boundaries of this world, breaking











I fold-score-tear: and make the cut.  [Blank] folio sections waiting to absorb – the ink the blood that flows from unbound veins to write [myself] into [your] story, [your] time.  Thus.  Write my progress.  See how I [am] deliver[ed].  De  livered.  De   livred.   De lived.


Livré à l’anarchie


My only recourse. 


[I am] bound to radical action by [your] attacks upon [my] borders –


I stitch with [my own] hair; lace [my] sinew stretched; bind [in my own skin].  This story that: I Am

                                cannot contain

                                                                nor be contained:







                                                                                I overflow [these] pages:


Live beyond [these] borders


5 thoughts on “Saille : Willow

  1. I suppose I’m a bit biased because I’ve never liked the random-esque spacing style, but that was an impressively morbid piece.

      1. 🙂 There certainly is, but it’s reads as a morbid sort of hope, if that makes any sense.

  2. Interesting – I can see that now that you mention it, but I think I misread it as somewhat more religious-feeling than utopian-yerning when I first read it.

    No problem. Besides, it’d be a bit silly if we all posted things and no one ever mentioned it when they found something someone else wrote interesting. 🙂

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