Daniel Hoevels
I read today about the man Daniel Hoevels
who drew a knife swift across
his neck, a true knife
his own true neck
and bled from his open neck
in front of those hundreds of people
He was an actor and he was accustomed to people
But nobody ever feels OK about knives
Pulling day by day
a false one across your delicious carotid
The knife became switched for sharper
An ill management
I wonder if I will ever feel this way
Responsible for a knife death
I assume is fake but isn't
I wonder if I will ever pretend to die for people
I wonder if I will ever be grievously injured
doing something that I love to do
Daniel Hoevels survives
continues to play and wears a bandage
I can barely wear a scarf without feeling oppressed
Day by slowly babbling day
I feel pains creep up from all the typing
Hands, my neck's trim bones
and a soggy burn behind my eyes
that makes me turn away
But you can hardly call this drama
You can hardly call it injury
I am doing something like getting hurt
Doing something like something I love
In the kegs of a theatre
a Daniel Hoevels, unafraid
plays out a fabulous death
The unrealized death
That says "I am
A levitation of love
I am just and I reclaim"
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