The Evening Dress
Untouched, a beautiful size 12 pressed up hard against teeth in a cold vice gripping. Naked in isolation, she waits for a strand of cotton and a dub from a Jack Rabbit pelt, thumb and forefinger, wax on felt. Slow concentric movement across taut yarn, fraying on rough skin, the evening dress of Marabou and
Swallows
In the café on Rue Lepic, I sip on a little green fairy, the Absinthe louche, a cloudy intoxicant storm, a dull release from the absolute, fennel and star anise, the grand wormwood punching in my mouth. And I write fondly about Paris and those little Cathedrals. The sound of the slow dripping water, essential