The first step to freedom is to change the way you dream,

to escape the constraints of the time &

space

into which you were thrown when first your throat

released that scream;

your first

entry into the ancient litany

of despair that is our shared language.

 

If the dreams will not cede,

if they will not submit,

then

 

when the knife punctures the skin &

sinks

down into the flesh,

something is released; not just the blood but

an obscene surplus; the pleasure of pain

gained by virtue of vice

& the sight of the red river flow:

 

don’t

take this as a joyous gift,

or as penitence for real or

imagined sins:

 

it is nothing more than violence

that cannot speak;

 

it is nothing more than

a voice too weak

to speak.