As I speak, I put on my armour. Slowly grease these legs fitted

with raven elastic garters. After this, I don my namesake,

Marie Madeline, milk leather harness belt with O-ring hardware

& studded rivet collar. On this comely head I set my helmet,

with a crest of boar-hair that nods caressingly above it.

Pace Iona Beach. Industrial waste, shit, beauty, airport.

Standing with mausers pointing at it. I express worry,

The feeling of spontaneous expression. Pseudo humphouse makes it

known. Then as my cage skirt ebbs the life out of me, it answers,

it is not a secret, no matter the bluff. Now, don’t fuck it up.