Fragrant purse stuffed of dry leaves sunk in a honeyed aquarium, then floating. Is the body a representation? Nobody says “Shut up” while laying down because it just goes without saying. But November festivals leave parting shouts in the copper wiring of your bloody veins. This is what I was meaning to say when a gang of nothing came into my mouth, planted a black hole and took a dive– labor is strangely elusive but idleness soaks my clothes. Go to the nearest faucet and shut it up but blood steeps a body in pieces. Open the babysitter’s brandy, chew the bubble gum. Is the child a representation? Nobody denies it but nobody does anything. Being that language can’t take the erotics out of sleep. French trees sunk their teeth into billowy sleeves, drunk on the harvest hearse, sap flows.