In preparation for the revolution
we go to Tye’s house
and practice cutting milk bottles
with sharp swords.
I never join in
just watch,
too afraid to be perceived,
or, more accurately,
too afraid to be perceived
not being perfect at something
when trying it for the first time.
Not a desirable trait during the revolution.
I have observed for so long
that I can give tips to the noobs
and help them cut cleanly
on their first attempt.
I tell them,
You must be full of knives.
When I say full, I mean full.
When you open your eyes, knives.
When you open your mouth, knives.
When you spread your legs, knives.
Knives in every organ.
No room for bones; knives.
Knives in your hair,
knives between your toes,
knives carefully inserted in your asshole.
But – BUT – you must also be soft.
Softly spoken. Soft to the eye.
Soft to the touch. Soft to the squeeze.
When someone embraces you,
there must be no hint of the knives. This is what it takes to survive.
