To mouther... You forget yourself if you think you dissemble me without slaughter. You always do. A century (and counting) of lies. I have no thoughts perambulatory or genius. Instead, I streak across in lexicon, celibate in language, and with demonstrations of indiscipline sorely lacking elsewhere. I'm interested, but I'm not obsessed. My mind is impotent and erogenous, but not for you, more because of you.