Ritual of the Split
I carve my name
into the wet interior of language.
It does not bleed letters,
only heat.
My soul hangs open—
meat remembering the knife.
The subject is born
where the cut refuses to close.
I kneel before the lack
and call it god.
#lacan
#abjectpoetry
#ritualwriting
#splitSubject
0
0
0
0