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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.
I’d call you Judas, but it’s a cliche,
And not even appropriate -
I was always the disciple,
Flesh-weak, forgiven and following,
And to hear you sneer at me was like...
Finding a maggot squirming,
A discovered liar,
At the core of my wet amber fruit;
Or the time I discovered that at Versailles,
In the fondant rooms,
Beside the taut marble and unnecessary gold,
Aristocrats would squat on the staircases
It was like finding out that your lover
Is taking Imodium.
Don’t you know that since the day you laughed at me,
I haven’t been able to so much as look
At a nectarine, fig biscuits or anything French?
Tasting that is like kissing you.