If you could know through me, without having to be tortured first, without having to be split by the door of a wardrobe, without having broken your casings of fear that were drying with time into casings of stone, as mine had to be broken under the force of tongs until I reached the tender neutral of myself — if you could know through me . . . then learn from me, who had to be wholly exposed and lose all of my suitcases with their engraved initials. — Guess at me, guess at me because it’s cold, losing the lobster’s casings is cold. Warm me up with your guesses about me, understand me because I
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