No

I draw the line at cats. I draw the line at parsnips. I draw the line at LARPing. I draw the line at five pints. I draw the line at lies.

I draw the line at Richard Dawkins. At weak sitcoms. At performance art involving masks. Board games about shopping. Single earrings. James Taylor. Vague-booking. Bad manners. At narcissists. At poems about being oppressed written by white MFAs from Maine. At tiramisu. At congratulations for attendance. At by-standing. At doing nothing. At Nicholas Cage. At deep -fried Mars Bars. I draw the line here. I bisect the circle. I slice the bread. I trace a hypotenuse inside its square of chocolate. I halve an orange. I line up for lottery tickets. I stop the car with wheels over the white line. I draw lines between us. I draw a circle around us with piss. I triangulate so my cock won’t miss. I line my simplest thoughts. I cut sentences off with lines about brevity. I draw the line at shellfish, insects of the sea. At dog shit in the park. At dry blowjobs. At rapey video games. My face draws its lines faster and faster. My heart still jags out crooked lines. The lines of my thinking change from year to year like sidewalk cracks. My eyes draw a line behind each snail, draw another to its rotten destination, the circles it will trace there as it consumes in slime what nothing else wanted, each whorl leaning in on itself, disappearing like cosmic strings into and out of itself, a set of loops forming an impossible knot. I draw the line at gifts like scissors, watches, and knives. I draw the line at 5 p.m. I draw the line when I sign a woman’s chest. At lateness. At fucking students. At fever. I draw the line in red, in blue, in whatever lavender pencil crayon is on hand. Let us agree that when I have drawn three lines we shall call it an A or an F. I draw the line at unnecessary canes. I draw the line at all the dramas. I draw it at designer diagnoses for assholes. At excuses and passes. At calculated play with the facts. At you lying in circles like two slugs fucking. I draw the line at no, even when it’s not been spoken.