Losing Their Names, These Things Underwent A

His Touch Both Consoles And Devastates Me; I Feel My Heart Pulse, Then Wither, Naked As A Stone On The Roaring Mattress While The Lovely, Moony Night Slides Through The Window To Dapple The Flanks Of This Innocent Who Makes Cages To Keep The Sweet Birds In. Eat Me, Drink Me; Thirsty, Cankered, Goblin-ridden, I Go Back And Back To Him To Have His Fingers Strip The Tattered Skin Away And Clothe Me In His Dress Of Water, This Garment That Drenches Me, Its Slithering Odour, Its Capacity For Drowning.

Our Fingernails Match Our Toenails, Match Our Lipstick Match Our Rouge...the Habit Of Applying Warpaint Outlasts The Battle.

A Young Girl Would Go Into The Wood As Trustingly As Red Riding Hood To Her Granny's House But This Light Admits No Ambiguities And, Here, She Will Be Trapped In Her Own Illusion Because Everything In The Woods Is Exactly As It Seems.

Midnight, And The Clock Strikes. It Is Christmas Day, The Werewolves Birthday, The Door Of The Solstice Still Wide Enough Open To Let Them All Slink Through.

Reading A Book Is Like Re-writing It For Yourself.