"to cut the universe of your world take shape
though it naturally rounds and slides still
make weapons every day and second
by second dreaming of knives turns
to dreaming of each round and slide
rounding and sliding right through
universes uncaring of perpetuity
cosmic or existential cutting
like knives without knives."
this poem is a reminder to myself to make weapons. not weapons like knives and implements of violence, but knives like kill gameplay, transformative implements, weapons with no point. to remember to wield them and enact change in my world. the tradition of language would demand that i call these tools but i have a knife for that too and i'll do what i want, thank you.