Suddenly, as if the light shifted into blue frondescence, I wandered back to that precious moment when I was born, emerging head-first from my mother’s cunt, slippery wet, first eyes opening, eternity my concubine years later when I found in a kiss that fateful lock, the transept where time returns to beginnings.

That was the start in whose slow violin clichés…

<>There were tears pinned to stars that flowed over us, night to night to night.

Take me in your arms, airless fairground, subtitle in which “I” am little more than a mirror, a mirror of wool split at the seams.  

Take me and forget me. You will be better off if you forget me. You might even reclaim the woman you were before I squeezed your liver and raised your breasts to Ecclesiastical heavens.

But maybe, just maybe, that’s what you want.

That, and an end note; the beginning with no end.

This fur, this shadowy furrow that flees from my feet…