the soundtrack to my waking was j’ai été au bal
my night viewing is a nightingale luring a fox.

this afternoon, the historian referred to the wantons as rams in spring.
this afternoon of the phlebotomist’s atrocities.
blaming a baby for your carelessness. how dare you.
“her veins are too tiny”; you didn’t even give her bandages. how dare you.
you gave up halfway. on each arm!

stories in my stack: the moors, wives & children, cassettes of a growing voice
there’s an offer on the table.

when invitations are for the giving and the taking.

there are clues and you cannot hide them.

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