I assert my existence with this sentence.

With this one, language turns the intangible essence
of myself into a substance,
an external object created
from the interior composed of spaces,
& the connections
between them;

interactions; the relation
of a relationship to that
which surrounds it;
a project
motivated by tensions & the tension
between them;

repetition & other patterns
composing
their own performance.
Now
        a pause in the form
of the following:

escape,
confrontation,
affirmation & transcendence,
a permanence made possible
only through disappearance.
So with these words the author now tries

to achieve this by using
the third person to persuade the second
that you can see
what he wants when she
presents these series
of symbols
& with this penultimate sentence I present you with a question:

where did the words come from?

Nothing else comes from yourself
when applied under
                a binary operator

            or when
interpolated between
History & the
hysterical performativity
demanded of us
            by those who would
subject us to

                isolation

                so intense
that subjectivity blends
with the screen;

your/our/my
fingertips intimate with
        plastic
                & glass;
touching that
which can never touch back…

when enough of us
            are stuck
to damaging habits,

like a bird with clipped wings,
            escape mutates
from ease into extreme difficulty…

We need to break from this endless
            imposition
of regulation upon our bodies,
the remorseless, repetitive demands
always controlling &
            quantifying
the value of our lives
            to satisfy
the demands of profit.

Time is alive & so am I,
& we both deserve our freedom.

I need you & you need me:
        we need each other.

Solidarity is the only solution.

Fuck the impotence of idempotence
imposed upon us from above:

Multiply together & we’ll become
            
            infinite.

…to distinguish between
            where the ending begins
& the beginning ends;
                searching, again,
for the origin of circles
            without knowing
why we need something more
        than this
furiously reproducing,
            restless
placidly self-devouring,
                Ouroboros;
seducing us with a
            forked-tongue;
a sensuous oscillation,
                licking at our skin
while we're watching
            paradox fuck ambiguity,
rapt with
            lustful disgust:
Touch & be touched
                by sensation:
Two hearts beating
            within one mother;
the instant
        between thought & action;
words forge connections
            that transcend contingent flesh,
& the warmth of your breath
         against my neck
allows me to accept
            our inevitable death.
& to no longer worry about what
        it means, because
what would that achieve?
            So let's instead ask what
we want from the answer,
        because hidden there,
deep within the question,
    meaning is waiting
patiently
        for us…