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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.