ting-hua, or “heeding the words.”

the peels of an egg hard-boiled and cracked
on the counter like all of the choices we make. my fingers
an egg tooth this afternoon an eggshell quiet
the wind from a street past Rockwell is the rocking cocoon
of the sea, or the whisper in an ear on a train

obedience is between two hands,
even the ones that seem totally apolitical and personal
but with political implications, sliding down the handrail,
sliding and catching themselves

ask me to stand, arms wide open.
ask
who’s in the room,

and count the number of stars tattooed on a wrist,
meant to overcome character inadequacies
through their broad texture and character

tell me you hope you never get tired of waiting for the world
to come to its senses
old planets can’t help obedience; ever elliptical.

and especially the limits within which these evolve
like our mitochondria always coming from our mothers

and because we have been fed our words we speak like strangers
and it’s actually ok; the little things the everyday interactions
that get under the skin are largely systemic. or like courtship,
the structure to achieve a specific outcome. Science vs. Romance.
celestial bodies, horizontal—
as in orbit.
I profess ignorance but ask questions.
I just can’t read
the script I was given to follow.

just because you squeeze our hands
while trying to pull us up,

what can be trivial to some
are the rules of the game.

words “a totality of oppressions,”
systematically based, entwined, all needing to be eliminated
and creating new (liberating) ones.