return of time

I laughed it was the day I cried
I thought.

The “I” took over my throat
The white pages had written
That day was the day I got Lost.

Post-traumatic of an “x” persistence
I had not, I thought.

The day last year you (comes in) and
The day you came out

Of a virgin
which had previously
Broken not.

Hymen-wise still intact, silent
Weaving by the fire of her private spot

The threads unraveled but the machine had not broke.
The pneuma took its break while silence on the line

Of your mouth was about to slant
And speak of something I thought existed not

The pneuma took its break thought and thought
Ruptured into the wood of the machine

Which had stopped.
Weave weave silent and by night if you do not
Unweave he will help you out.

You, shred the blanket I covered myself with
The one I weaved with so much thought
I had not spoke

You I made: you, shred with your consent
And I am just
Cold.