have mailed you fire last week, did you receive my flames? They will imagine a rifle on my tongue and fix themselves fetuses in the corner, cover their ears in fear of the firecrackers and horses and rockets I’ve stuffed in my bag. They will heave their proclamation, heed my “perspective” of current affairs, I’ll hold my word to one of the men’s heads. and he’ll tremble as I press against his temple and say, Say it. Say it. Say my name without spitting.
