a poem for today, 8 September 2012
[a syllable sorted sonnet of nine sentences and its image]
You cannot read how much it hurts as I write these unfeeling words to you.
Now you're going to do the same thing on the other side in the same place.
The circuit breaker might never know.
The political, instead, is always a trajectory towards someone different.
We undergo its suffocating embrace like the night, but it does not respond to us.
Mirrors are an enemy.
The liar is not in agreement with the cheated.
The iris, in German, is the rainbow of the eye.
Given the shoes, unlikely.