snafu

Say you were unlaced by a language. Say you prayed to a shivering glacier. Say you ate even the grief of the honey. Say you took the razor moon in your lung. Say you went rigid inside the night’s throat. Say you cleaved your breath with a hammer. Say you rose like a flood in your drunken heart.

“Force is as pitiless to the man who possesses it, or thinks he does, as it is to its victims; the second it crushes, the first it intoxicates. The truth is, nobody really possesses it. The human race is not divided up, in the Iliad, into conquered persons, slaves, suppliants, on the one hand, and conquerors and chiefs on the other. In this poem there is not a single man who does not at one time or another have to bow his neck to force.”