Tuesday, November 10, 2015

to be self-contained, sufficient

when the torture started
dreams of suffocation
steadily expanded

different angles
different times of day
in hands, in feet

press lips to every square inch
birds' harsh sounds    
float above pain                                      
nauseated and numb        
wish to transcend
tedious and oppressive
obligatory secret torture

like asking a blade to cut itself

Found poem by Mary Bast 
(From "Backbone," an excerpt from The Pale King, fiction by David Foster Wallace,
New Yorker, March 7, 2011)

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