I like to whittle;
I like to whittle pieces
of my life away,
I like the shaping
into nothing,
the insistent pruning.

I’ve never met a thing
I couldn’t throw away
like progression,
or finality of form.
I could erase myself.
remake myself.
outgrow myself,
come back to face
it. I never understood
why I had to repeat
nothing means a thing to
me so much
as I do now.

it’s the process I’m
obsessed with, not
the form.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: