Luisa Giugliano, p.6


The living quarters I shared, the human machines which heated the flats
     by way of reading aloud, fast and physical.

An eye-level ordering to the apartment, everything in its place but
     slightly elevated.
Everything in its place until it falls.

The doctor’s visit: we discussed his flimsy window screen as a breast plate. Later we discussed how to detach cat claws. We had collections you might recall, things between us, shared property.

The doctor’s visit: with the deep bag and many implements to maintain his authority.

He was opaque, and, like a mirror, showed nothing but what was shown
     to him, he was a statue of authority.
He cut open my thigh, he pulled out a tape worm and stuff he called
     vines, he was not moving, this happened.

What would happen if he came in street clothes and refused to speak
     and refused our money?
What would have become of me if his arms did not have ball joints
     and you did not move them?