pommes, hearts

2 February 2007

Dearest Caridad,

For those, women without shame, a thing, or two, would be useful (if remembered): there is a point in which (you are right) there is no ground and we are flung against the void.

Can you answer the question: what is a man? If he in in the center, is fibrous and small, then we shall drink tonight. If not, God help him!

The nocturnal position, the position of leverage defies naming, because initially we have been taught to. That "love" has a density (mass) means it is buoyant: it will float in salt-water. To laugh at the self is the biggest of all choices.

I cannot enter the house so I've started at the top, mallet in hand, the chains are long enough. This is her (when she is) witholding.

It could be because they are prone to bleeding and drowning. Morse code is expecting too much but at any moment (daughters and all) they might die: we, on the other hand experience the complications.

Sleep is uncanny, its ways: reocurring.

P.S.

There is enough flesh and fat on the snow for the lot of them. We who learn, cut off our hair and pretend to not know. Nothing, nothing, black.

P.S. 2

You called to adhere, I didn't respond so startled. We are not curious, but capable although we do not care. Death is an enchantment, so lovely warm, cervix speaking. Why leave your blood on the snow? I would know where to find you.

-Bajo.