ON HOW TO TRANSFIGURE THE BODY UTTERLY
I wail, I wail, and certes that is true.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
I practically ran to get out all these lonesome shoes. Shut up inside the shop I was, raging like a bull. Maddened in the middest of the race, reaching more up than across, I saw the gold foil façade of a house built on corpses. Of a sea composed entirely of horses, all running to their death—
O I wish to the lord I'd never been born
Or died when I was young
Then I'd never have seen your shinin blue eye
Or heard your lyin tongue
Into this ugly & haole world was I wakened, the morning star met with its wanderer. All the good times are past and gone, this habitat imbred me like a shrive. Be with me always . . . take any form . . . love is like, love is like falconry.