Gold resin appears,
here and there,
marking the mistakes.
Brush strokes on the cracks,
painting a crossing
through repair
in the object’s history.
Imagine
what the pottery speaks:
It’s a wreckage of a life I live
mixed in with the waste, moving
in between all the breaks
that will never be fixed
but we share
in these lacquer words
a new phrase;
The damage; illuminated,
no mind to its happening.
From the poetry zine ‘Homo Sacer’ (Available here: https://daithibowen.gumroad.com/l/homosacer)
