Tracts (((6)))

the social is also
private, its locks
radiate specifically
through what each
voice can capture, &
this is not a painting,
where the image is
nothing but what catches
inside each throat as
doorway to something as
specific as what a ‘shop’ is,
the conversation aspires to
‘love’, but ends in
the kidnap chamber as
arched investment, patched,
a book of slit butterflies,
secret, but downloadable, &
everything on half-price
curdles this half-life
echoes each individual
letter is gashed onto
most faces are tracts
for pasting on walls.