{sister sally.}

we love you. the good ones. it is true, as they say, that we killed off all spiritual debilitaters. they had been coming to bed with us. drinking our sanguine blood as we slept. in morning, we awoke to our own weepings. until soon, the mornings no longer bore the fresh fruits of good dreaming and glad tidings. we began to lay like paralyzed insects, wrapped in webs of deceit. no one knows to move on days such as these. and so we took to drinking. hard and heavy with the indecisive days. the prank phone calls of love and laughter. lowly subjects to our own feelings. debating, we'd say, "love! oh love and longing! at home you found me on my own two feet. you took me away. and i went. because i wanted so badly, a glutenous mouthful of what you were selling. but it was i! i'm the one who gave the giving of a dreamer. like a lonely ghost. seeing myself a saviour. seeing you, my saviour. but now this lamb is bleeding on the altar in your backyard, while you read the paper. a burnt offering to love. i smolder for naught." ...and we realize the wastings. the brain seizes. and the heart splinters like old, dry wood. so neatly in the ashes.

thanks be to you, my true and loyal friend. passing through the ages. the noisy downtown veil of night met us at the fire escape. we crept on kitten's feet, and slit the throats of empty lovers. admiring the carbon spill from their silver necks.

draw me a bucket of water.