Fault Whispers

By Mark Tardi

“A skeleton’s mouth makes few concessions to prettiness.”
—Jacques Joubert

Because your mouth is violet and you cannot speak

Because maybe I like Thursdays the way I used to hate baths, and

baths are boundaries whose sharpness will be blurred with more information

Because movement itself is a form of currency

Frozen in articulations

Because don’t indulge yourself in the idea of restraint

The blackened patches could have been pubic hair on dead bodies, or simply
the wildness of neglect

without horizons or spaces

Because it’s a comfort to know waste is the fuel of contradictions

a knife rusted before its first use

Because in the barest of rooms, nothing is comprehensible

Neither fanatic nor mystic

Because the first weeks of September came and went and the weather held

Not woven by innocent hands

Because this stasis is preparation

Because you’re deceased, maimed or in Philadelphia

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