Bridget Talone from COWARD Like rabbits with that half-way attitude, cringing in their habitat, nervously beheading clover domes. Don't embellish absence I think, right before I do. Obsession is an opal mountain, sleek and growing. I ascend it slippingly, on hands and knees. Adoring what I had not wished to adore I lose again to you, temporarily. Inside this concession: a perforation. Hole punched, a channel, a charming yellow mouth. When Simone killed what she desired she cried and all that was solid in her body streamed out. A pearl loosed into alabaster slime. from COWARD July. A line of drool. A sickness that is close to death and then relents. Mossy ropes that bind the waters' chest. The plucking away of the flower of thought. The eating of cakes shaped like genitals. I had to keep reframing my curiousity in order to be close to him. First to disguise any criticism in it and then to justify my continuing interest, which suggested treachery. I thought to keep releasing myself in unassuming snakes of air. The way a song travels at the beach. Pieces of seaweed suspended in a glum shimmer. He always said to be continued when leaving a room dooming it to be the only thing I'd expect from ghosts. Repetition and the odd metallic smack across the heart. The past leeches, resolutely. A strange will knocks inside my breastplate cracking it like a wasps nest. And to touch it is to interfere. The heart waters, insufficient. I write this over my private life.