Her attractive pain sitting there as if surrounded by the Symbionese Liberation Army. What if this were loss, what is that howling? My anxieties attack at her every withdrawal, a dog at her heels. I cannot believe that I could lose her I cannot face another scolding by superior beings should I give chase--the clamp jawed frenzy of my daydream hunt of her attractive pain My occasional blabbermouthed baying.

The minor tragedies of misinterpretation foolish enough to think itself legitimate--blind idot litters smothered in the bloody sheets by royal midwives while mad princes stagger through the room declaiming verses on the theme of abandonment by the female principle.