As I speak, I put on my armour. Slowly grease these legs fitted
with raven elastic garters. After this, I don my namesake,
Marie Madeline, milk leather harness belt with O-ring hardware
& studded rivet collar. On this comely head I set my helmet,
with a crest of boar-hair that nods caressingly above it.
Pace Iona Beach. Industrial waste, shit, beauty, airport.
Standing with mausers pointing at it. I express worry,
The feeling of spontaneous expression. Pseudo humphouse makes it
known. Then as my cage skirt ebbs the life out of me, it answers,
it is not a secret, no matter the bluff. Now, don’t fuck it up.