for William Shatner “I was not great in March – large eyes, small hands and feet, like Roswell. Not like good or healthy children, free, clean, and easy. I got myself a cup of blood.” Later, he salvaged dignity as a contract executor. \"Fuck books, and all the other great objects floating at the bottom of the sea,\" he said. \"I have to go lynch a sociolinguist.\" She said: \"...

You, with handfuls of hemlock dance about my bed. Your eyes promise feral futures, hands push blood through veins, pull air through lips and you ply my mouth with poppies. Crimson tongue and petals beat and beat in my mouth and I, my blood burning, I dance a rugged rhythm. Dust dances with us, freed from the floorboards, daisy chains and cuckoo-spit fly from round our necks and feet somehow stamp without feeling the floor. Your fingers are tangled are knotted with mine we are crushing the stems and leaves –palm to palm. You bite, bite teeth and tongue pushing nettles and knotweed in and round and through my neck, and my hands? Holding My teeth and tongue? Biting. Burning blood is dancing, hemlo...