Chapter 6

I was airport tired. Nine hours looking out of a bus window into
the forest green—does a number on ya. I could use your hug now. I
haven’t any blankets, and you’re lovelier than most things anyway.
Come then. Come now. On Bernard Shaw’s plan you can write five
novels in five years. No way to know if they’ll be great or not,
but I trust you will know yourself well, and fleeting. It is no
unfamiliar happening that heroin, and heroine—are just one letter
apart. There is something else in their smiles…. In your outer-most
spine. Reaping hegemony over your guarded heart. O belief! O
contrar!          Love
in a seashell. Seek our your ears. O smile everyone, it is over. I
don’t mean to be iconoclastic, but the bible is of no use to the
modern world. Leave it for the afterlife behind us. Following us.
Not one Need to hide your viscidity anymore,
behold--------------------------------- Volition. I writhe for you.
I twis