'She wasn't born. The molecules collided she tells them. How she got here. She doesn't know. Except that god isn't to blame.
It was pretty she said. As the moon smothered the sun. I can't see it, but I imagine that's how the world began. Blind and without knowing where it would end.
The life falling from her fists in beads of sweat. A tentative hold on nothing in particular. A sealed box. Containing some poison and a subject. Theoretically both alive and dead.
Just like everyone always is.'
- "Theoretical Poetics"