I is the runaway of the alphabet the simple
& the complex combined. A solitary strip of
black defined only by its writer. Is bold? Straight?
Curled, framed, thick, short, tall & most importantly,
is it you? Do you fit inside this letter?
Had things been different we could say that "B am lonely
and B haven't had a drop of anything in days."
A bad example, of course. But I
can be beautiful, in both meanings. The 9th letter of
the alphabet is us and this is a fact but it has to be
unbroken. Take out any part of this sacred line &
it ceases to define anything, let alone you. You are dictated by I
but you do not fit inside of it –
you carry it, thrumming in your pocket let it sit quivering
on your shoulder & it's the only letter that is allowed the
importance of solitary existence with meaning,
you can say it for days – I I I I I I
am more than a letter &
nothing more than a line.
