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| Tethered CoupletsThere is one whose tongue in the dawn is dark from plonk, who makes love to a certain hand, opens a cherished book, wishes to approach the zone in which monodies- Thus the maudlin albums, worn though ever cherished, the certain stang in the throat, slow intakes and exhalations, scribbling . . . In the day what remains are rings on the pine, blemishes in the trouser-tops. What vanishes is the image of a certain face, is the image of a certain white breast, are the white birds and notes from the throat of this certain plainting phantom one has feared and imagined. -Jeff Clark |
