Division [2010]

"Once again this life hobbling before me, what am I saying life,

this death, this death without sense or pity, this death that so

pathetically falls short of greatness, the dazzling pettiness of

this death, this death hobbling from pettiness to pettiness..."

-- Aime Cesaire

            Outside the dividend...

  I know I am a dense speculation, rendered to posthumously address the problem of sanctuaries, but modern money is not the newspaper, and mounting pressures are sorted, and torn.  I must be one with the punishment, and be naturally multiplied when given to perfect numbers.  My safety is to be altered between flushes, in order to properly commemorate the raising of smoked beams, and the bulging brick of me must be green and mammoth.  I must be hard, but not difficult.

  Outside the dividend, I have witnessed an unknown woman entering my home with satire strapped to her poor midriff.

  Outside the dividend, I am no longer to be purchased, or delivered, or folded and placed into a corrugated tin box.  I must not be found before curiosity, and I certainly must not be allowed to represent the freest knowledge.  Ignorance is the only haven for my outmoded financial language.

  Outside the dividend, I am beaten, and spent.

  Outside the dividend, I am the result of several speculative explosions, and the booming noise of me is no longer just sanitary knowledge.  A brilliant hatred is assuming all of my colors, and I am no longer valid outside of it.  Therefore, a dramaturgist has been summoned to assist in situating my bleeding history.  But, hers cannot be an adventure of humorous instinct, and it must not be strictly a counting expedition.  And, though she may find many glamorous perspectives, she must remain grounded, and she must not become my home.

  For when the broken familiar arrives, and he is no torturer, he will be welcomed with raised arms into the wealth of my studio bosom.