(Romantic Repression a Dance With Denial, Brook.)

Litter on the floor pages of a handwritten letter
Caustic rustic reminiscence etched in ink
Rejected constantly always every day is better
Tell another, slap my cheerful cheek rouge pink
I move my flask though it were the foreign perfume
Found in the place of your wedding ring absence
A bottle color of eggplant replaces dignity in this very room
Mocking me, your mate doth do my future non-existence tense
And yet you are still in my presence
My only love, my harmful nuisance.

For Brook the babble of her utterances became nothing but a changing stream where a different dam was marked in time, but
only for a day. “I could have just said it was twenty miles to the north more-so then it was not,” she mutters but only to some
voyeuristic human trafficker, impossible to prove yet everyone seemingly knew. To know her is to abuse her. Instead, the dam
of twenty miles north marked a different person calling only in an ancient echo in. The perfume bottle was obviously always the
same. Here, her boxes always the same, she looked upon the same potpourri and the handkerchief was always the embroidered
one, the initials slightly different seemingly italic, then after a faded glimpse returning to innocent normal that place that was more
straight. Her late mother’s handkerchief never changed but she had used an older stencil. Only a trick of eye, dismissal of belief
remained constant, yet the subject must surely be different and her family would never know in any case. They are all dead, and
nothing but to know that today is always different and her memory of one hour constantly changes. Impossible to explain, yet
everyone looked the other way. Now she just ignores the phone calls. It has been a long time since she had met a genuine
human. She still understood. All she is, is a random verse of Revelations. Imitation of evil as the ice cream truck drives by
slightly out of tune.