then hurt: you glug, milk-like, into a pleat against my hips. Witness my hips a slumbering cityblock, blade-born and dark
with dog-shaped shadows, you cream yourself in this dark. I swear and smear you like a white infection over every hollow
roof, call it dawn. Every morning requires medical attention - we have to cover our hands and heads before they storyline -
before we flick the theater from our eyes and how. Our starring role as a skullcap that has to be worn inside every monument.
She monuments for us, compiles an armory of unloaded bb guns and as sustenance, wheels the white cheese of skin
underbreast. So we are cast in each other's military, we always shoot to the left of the moon in daytime, visibly bloodied.
This is natural. In the trees, some wetness at my inner elbow pearling at the corner of your mouth, of course, just another
crease we call soft cavalry, of course, you're scared. You try to monument me, a bone, a breast, but you're sad, I was
born to this. So you gut the cheese, wait to exhibit symptoms of a thickened sky. Witness every morning's bloodied moon a
performance of self-surveillance.