My rating: 5 of 5 stars
When we’re gone we will be both D and H and H and D, simpering and stead. I’ll be a stake in the feild and you’ll be crap tumbling around. When we’re gone I’ll say this is just like Sons and Lovers. It will be very twirlie and very lifted up and let down again. It will be a time of declaration. Declaration will do and undo everything. Saying it is like going. It is its own alibi, to say the whole thing, to cut it out of the field. A tree in the middle of a field, making everything out of it. A fucking tree. Grass in shifts. When we’re gone the situation will persist. It will ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. It will be a ragged trajectory, a diagonal thru, Your Shirtholes, Your Rashy Thighs. When we’re gone the lines thru the feild will swell and recede. It will roll over. As if we heard something stop, but no we did not hear anything stop.