(six shots of honey whiskey and i’ll confess the compulsive character of my subscription to specific forms. i’m at an intellectual loss, okay, and an intellectual gain. how do you manage your right to indifference? but to become complicit yourself? for a brief moment i insisted on the desktop presence of kiki smith held profane holy aloft by a modern procession, but then i surrendered to potentially false magic. three horses skirting a seaboard graveyard—they move towards something unknowable, and the image is grainy.)