Om The cool dripping grass of modernity sweeps me high and I lost the umbrella I was holding. He’s not an agent, he’s the agent. He asked if I liked the rain and I responded that I loved it. It changes, as we sweep East and you move West; you are happy and that is why I sit under waterfalls for you grading nothing, comparing nothing— what is comparison?—What?— When I am looked at by you? For All Those I Ever Owned I purchased a Rubens because I thought it was the most lovely thing I’d ever seen because I thought it looked like a Raphael. And then, after all that money, I held the Rubens in my arms and saw imperfection after imperfection. I am such a fool, a coward, sledgehammer and knife. I left the Rubens outside a Detroit library, carefully wrapped with small ribbon. I can’t, I can’t I can’t own the Rubens because all I want is the Raphael. I should have known, I never want them for them, only for their similarity to him. Him. Their water in my mouth runs dry but one spark from him and I am wet forever.