I exist in liminal landscapes of longing
When the fullness of a  bloated  moon
Spills    car (di) nal    into  a  new  cycle
Of    choreographed    chaos,     rolling
To the  scripted  soundtrack  of  an  off-
Key  pianola.  The stage the same,  each
Wax  and  wane  –  a  cast  of  changing
Players. You skulk through shadowlands 
of peripheral wings. Between the ripples 
of  speechless flutter, we embark on our   
unscripted real:              a love story;

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                 a skin flick;
 

      a snuff film.