You inhabit two bodies.
One is examined.
One activates space.
One measures the created.
One bears every emotion.
One integrates all equipment.
Hands holding a cylinder, are you floating?
Knees bent into triangles, are you cowering?
Elbows pressing an oblong, are you prostrating?
Torso circling an axis, are you holding your breath?
Intersecting clavicles point to air,
then to you—
a nameless body with no escape
bound up in dissected geometrics.
It is funny how a copper needle calls forth a sense of tenderness.
Things manifest through concealment.
Arrows drown in a lake, making ripples.
Wax melts into a mold, casting inversions.
Tools disappear into repetition, growing into limbs.
Use your body’s negative space to say no.
Cover your ears with your hands,
and let the emptiness in-between flow,
congealment at the other side of the dome.
A spider weaves
into hundreds of pavilions in the mirror,
yet circles to nowhere in a palindrome.
On the crosswood,
a body waiting to be reproduced
feels its pain in advance.
—Lux Yuting Bai