Corrections

The day is not dressed like a woman, it is dressed in the simple elegance of birds and bears the imprint of wings. After the touch of so many wings, the poor sky cannot help but wish for its own. Fear does not have breasts any more than death does, empty in its suit and false wedding rings, knocking, though the knocking only temporarily fills the space. With handkerchiefs and personal photos. With sugary orange slices and heart-shaped candies, which prove as well as anything that the heart of a woman is not swampy.

Let's get a few more things straight: the cat knocked over the water dish and the large dark circle spread. I will write any address with immaculate clockwork, immaculate desire, because being an animal is not so bad, there are whole hours, whole afternoons to drowse by the pond in the cornfield. I really do mean animal, not animal desire, near the dark and expressive eye of the pond. One cannot look away. I, for one, have a sense of decency and intend to make these corrections known. I'm preparing a small private room where not one person's dreams will be allowed to wander.