Abstract
Body you fink, betrayer, high traitor, squealer, you dancer of lurches and spills with years like high digits on a thermometer warning of fever, your leaps and runs are doomed to expire. Cursed by a cousin unasked to my birthday, I am your princess promised forever and given a season, time of a rose, a day-lily’s days, a breaker that fails to remember its crest. Since I can’t sack you, I’ll sing a low blues, You’ve done me wrong but if you come home I’ll care for you still, because—I don’t know. I’m stuck. You are mine.
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