Will an ice queen emerge from today’s enchanto-scape? Trees like churros in the turquoise morning. I imagine her nipples as dark brown (not the ice queen); mine are pale. Scratchy woolen scarf rubbing on my scar. Legs a little open on the train this morning, in glitter lavender wool tights. The men keep their legs //really// wide open and I hate them for that among other things. I guess it was all those sisters, lined up in a row in identical outfits, that made her a poacher with a daddy complex. Their various homelinesses and vulgar ruched strapless wedding outfits like some dumb poster one sees in the subway for a cable tv show? How can he be happy in that world of Texas party glitz, or for that matter in any world at all? Who’s in hockessin Delaware? My eyeglasses teeter on my middle-aged nose. Someone coughs in the other room.

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