It starts with a study in curves.
Lost in broad daylight, I think
in intimate terms about pencils,
sharpened by a schoolboy
oblivious to Barthes’ empire.
Time, the only thing I have not.
I shall pray for you she hissed, leaving.
Ashes to ashes I laugh,
turn the machine off, move
closer to anger.
Hands, metal, ankles, metal, eye. Metal! Nerves.
I practise benign indifference.
I learn about human squares and circles,
underline the connective distance
between something lost
and something irreplaceable.
© Maria Stadnicka, published at Mary Evans Picture Library.