She Turned Her Nose

She turned her nose up at it. IT COULD BE the meat was rank. The beasts of the field or beasts of the sea's magnetic fields. It might have been rank. It could be that she hasn't filed her teeth lately. I felt a slight in the night. For it is a risk for me to go out there to put the food out. There are shadows that become beasts very quickly, if one is not armed at all the cardinal points of the body. It has become very hard to explain my life. I saw a shadow through my legs when I was bent over to release the food, out there in the night, where there is also gunfire, and it could have been the end for me right there. And would you have cared, would you have written the epilogue for my poor form? I doubt it. The shadows I see between my legs looking backwards are like the shadows of people who died in plane crashes. The shadows of people who died in plane crashes are like drawings by Nancy Spero. It becomes harder to explain my life, which no longer has a doorbell. She turned her nose up. It was all a drawing of the night. Even the absence was a drawing, so I drew it close, in dearness. The beasts of the field or the beasts of the sea's magnetic fields are sex. They are sex and they are drawings of sex. Let's face that. I don't know what to say. I was preparing to do some paintings on these blue tulle circles. Little feminine tondos. You can see right through them, they're thinner than eyelids, thinner than paper. When I bend over, the shadows I see between my legs are a sea. The sea has no epilogue and neither does she. I could go back out into the night with a file and offer to fix her teeth. If she comes back. If she smells the food and thinks twice. Her body is a terrible armature for something I like to think of as her soul.