WILLIAM SUBTELL: for Christian BöK
the single horn of the exclamation mark, the shadow of a unicorn surmounted by its long eburnean shadow, a distant comet and its swart trail
a flashing darkness riding through the bright forest
a finger raised to test the wind, a short then long dash, morse code aspiring upwards, exclaiming toward the sky.
is it an instruction: ‘exclaim here’, or a regret: ‘the word before, it would have been a good thing to fill with unbridled joy, or shouting’
the mark itself an exclamation, the midge of the full stop stretched out, a throat, a smear, a cone of explosion
a skid and then a sudden stop, long life short end or vice versa, a sundial gnomon and its black tongue painted by light
death’s favourite punctuation: the jot, a single moment, its long black robe fluttering behind, the letter of self, inverted