#98

On the phone. Leave that off. I imagine day 6 (or is it day 5?) as a lipstick trace of Armageddon. That band at Houston Hall, "The Beasts": ten horn players and a drummer who struggles to be heard beneath the din. Luke. Our false prophet there with his twin (a pair of prophetae), and the masks their students wear. brtlghh, brtlghh, brt. The Millennium. A scene where one see from all angles. And Adrian 2 serves coffee. Roaches. Scones.

Am I moved to be inch-deep in women? The digression that is, or the root. Some, in the field, have their brothers ahead. But on winter evenings... Studies. Then map out every length of their passage. And Sarah to get stoking the Saint's ire: "The libraries should be burned. And only the things people know by their heart would survive." Pour a gin, pour a brandy. Nothing is as it seems that day. Not the one, not the two, not the three queers in sandals to usher in Jerusalem.