there's no doubt about it. spring has unfolded herself upon my face, lips want to smile now, freckles everywhere. i'm a warm weather baby, bare armed and slipless, you'll see the outline of my secret underworld when i walk into the sun.

but there's more that puts the darkness in each freckle, the irish aren't God's only art. there's a bit of rebellion, i think i've progressed to better ground, no contorted sculptures, no monstrous relationships. it's always been better in my head than in reality.