...into Marilyn Duchamp's sandwiches. He just hides his tips in a shoe box and admires his younger brother's earwig collection. He watches the old women sink, when the temperatures drop, exposing their marrow in the markets.

At his father's house... It's crows versus the great black raven, who caws at his father before his half-maker drinks discount rum from the wife's mean flower vase. The conclusion is that all of life is shame.

At the museum gift shops, he looks at Cranach the Elder's "judgement of paris" and sees that their necklaces are forged golden ovals that look like BULKY restrictive chains. Leading from the foreground of the piece to the the tips of his tennis shoes to him... here...
snaking against his cheek...golden and cold and ancient and sacred.

When he and Mary pass the recruitment center on Saturday's after the 7-3 shift, they hear the cadence of the trainees: "What makes the grass grow? Blood!" They see the engineer saluting his son at the shopping center and Mary thinks of Matzareth's eels, fattened by
slipping into the horses head, fattened by feeding on the soldiers left at the battle of Skagerakk.

Mary asseses the world: launched like a tugboat caught in a river of gruel. We disregard the reverberations of our predatory moves. Occupying a tower of secret drawers. With each level we ascend, a travesty revealed.

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