Yesterday I went back to see the girl I went to when I went out of my mind. I was told there that things like that aren’t at all surprising around here. She had suffered from it and had fainted but had regained her composure. And what’s more, people say good things of her. - Vincent Van Gogh to his brother, Theo
It does not know Dutch does know Rachel’s inability to keep
objects like treasure:—rag wrapped, wrapped in hand;
knows Rachel when she is waiting for a lover & how she cannot
distinguish blood pushing from loud artery from footsteps on stairs.
But Rachel is tiring of moonlighting as a rhetorical question
& no longer waits for any lover. I am
a new tenant: the ladybug knows bodies & their intricate accumulation, it sees the how
of interior scaffolding & plaster rounding gravity. Rounds the drain—
I wait, don’t run water:
Rachel is twisting pipes the ladybug looks on, orange & prickling—
anyway, downstream, they are receiving none of this by tide
so fuck it twists Rachel. I cannot unhinge this feeling
of nausea when the ladybug settles into my toothbrush bristles.
The ladybug organizes its wings & Rachel grabs my shoulders as if we are the contrasts on a cameo—:
she knows if certain body parts can touch other certain body parts we are still able
to forget each other if the opportunity for forgetting arises
—the ladybug is concerned with sweeping statements & points to the drain as defense.
But Rachel, Rachel is tired of waiting; would leave the ladybug sweating at a bus stop
if given the chance. Hands wrapped in greased cloth:
flattens heels to tile; jams stomach to porcelain; snaps on the faucet.