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.