I raise an index finger to prove a point. It is true You have always wanted love to be hurtful. Hurt is a masochistic enactment when You claim an animal lacks

waiting

panting. Is wanting everything. When You inscribe any kind of intentionality on a pet You bind disappoint to a future rippling clause. Fleshy indifference is a rhetorical term for animals measuring off human proclamations of animality. It is true You are of a body. It is true You are a good puppy. Such a good puppy. Such a good puppy. Such a good puppy. Such a good pussy. Everything is meat cereal to a cat. A lot of animals straddle a beauty they are unable to pass on without projectile inferences. It is true words focus attention. It is true too many words disembody. I hesitate to plagiarize a future. Tomorrow is a long way off. I do not want to be alone. It is true. It is true You engage materialism at its most radical. Transfixed You slice an index finger off to embody an encounter with proven points. Translucent possibility without a cut is impossibility. It is true a cut is unlimited because materially it does exist. It does exist if I could point to it. It is true You are not hurt You are healing. You are healing because You told I so

+ I believe what You tell I. You are full. You are full. You are full. You are so delightfully full of telling. I show colourful pus from what is left of an index finger. I cut off what is left refusing two sides to every story. Save a middle finger grind a rest whole. I stick a severed digit into existence

it smells of everything.