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She received a brooch from a boyfriend.
She smiled, and promised to always wear it.
After he left, she went to her bedroom,
looked herself in the mirror,
then swallowed the brooch.
Silver bubbles tingled her throat and landed on her heart.
Her heart is made of purple velvet,
decorated with jewellery.
When her heart beats,
shadows of silver blink in her breast.
When I say I believe women & men read & write
differently I mean that women & men read & write pretty
differently. Whether this is biologically 'essential' or just
straightforward like when you left the toaster burning or
because women have a subordinated relationship to
power in their guts I don't know. Is this clear enough for
you to follow. I don't know. When I say we should try
not to forget the author, this is because that would be bad
manners as well as ridiculous. When I say there is a
centre into which exclusion bends I mean nothing. When
I hear you ask how much money did you get or how far
have you got into your work, something internal plunges
for the exit, like puking, it wants to get out—because
you're still being hostile (after all these years)—& look
toward the charcoaled meats for rescue. There they are
still on fire.