Violently Interrupted Poem

Hug me and I’ll let you picture me naked.
from this day on
I’m the Judith Butler of the emancipation of men.
I’ve stopped thinking since it leads nowhere. from now on I look
when it’s necessary to look.
if it were indispensable for me to think right now, it would be about god.
or, again, about emptiness. about the space between arms,
the dark substance,
the things left between vegetables, it makes no difference at all,
the point is in no man’s land.
about how beautiful hair is when it’s falling out. about the last days of May,
the space left when emptiness turns black.
when you picture me that, in the same way, means filling an emptiness.
at the key point
everything is reduced to exotic particles. minestrone. you have no idea
what’s inside, but everything works. the point is, trust me,
in what’s between.
a well-filled out emptiness is love’s limit.
the principle is the piece of skin between toes, picture me
before I do that to you.
hug me in any way you like except with your arms. arms are a rural weapon.
leave them to Croats.
take out all the silicone and use it to build a house. flatten yourself against a wall
like a virtual shadow, step forward
into a volume of defense and a time of unconditional freedom, a point of clear danger.
be considerate while stirring that minestrone.
make it as thick as possible. reduce the emptiness to a bare minimum.
even those who are now squatting in these plants sometimes become depressed
by all the space surrounding them.