It begins seductively, with the potential loss of her hands parting in a bath O Fernet, able to close again, close enough to his temples that his darker moments of depression illuminate, taking on a slow neon flush of knee- cap busting into freedom like we’d like it to for the story. In reality, the butter did it, accompaniment _____for a lens in constant threat of expansion; plus __________it’s all over the microphones _____but like a judge-salve more than _____a ski-resort French-bread patter creaming _____the handheld Mi in ornate fumes, and took the view that a woman I had loved for a long while was dead, BUT did you know she’d be finally important to you after she died. OF COURSE you knew that, that’s why she went to so much trouble to feel like she was always ABOUT TO DIE when she was with you, because she knew she belonged to you much more in death than in life, already.

What are we bedrooms’ throats drenched in bromide supposed to do then We hire someone to ... such and such a degree of independence, but they do need you. Knee becomes nothing, calm down, stick to your thoughts if I were you. I’d detail here a feeling of degradation but I lack an ability to practice, much less make you feel it because of my practice, to persuade in- side suede pink gloves what a line like that can do without a single desire to insist other than form itself blotching anterior paprika while you’re __out drink ing. I listen to La voix humaine, a woman moving from not ... a leaf to objective, as shrewd the many forces assume to keep curt ... she is thinking I don’t want to be pissed on all the time, obsolete in the dark can. I leave right as Piaf sings “Bâtarde! Bâtarde!” Overwhelm: “Le journal! Le journal!” Her husband can’t stop reading (Algeria, PEUT TROUT), newspaper in hands. Outshone, she makes scenes on the telephone with scarabs in the wrong scone at the astron sppeed. Âllo? A virgin in Bourgogne is still a subscriber to AMC. At some point, pause I could not hinter Madam is not at home __divorce at your improductivity, deluded interior. bragging boys over, I mean, there was nothing to do but be honest. Coming from nothing. How could faster wealth possibly be so inevitable and why resolve dangerous impulses. I turn off the glass __fibrillator break a, you distract the women’s Door beneath sound of 3 accordions ... nothing I am lying, socially, I’ve only had three cigarettes today and not one called. No one called the house. All the day the house persisted in its infinite artistic workings. Mine teddy bears. THEY ARE FALLING ALSO TO DISREPAIR. Come lend your time to me It’s all right, she likes it like that. She told her friend, __For heaven’s sake, what do I expect me to do about it? Her friend sucked on some hard candy she got at the waxer’s at 7:00 AM. It was pink and paraclete, pain ward labored tirelessly, sweet, yes, an indirect salivate Obediently beyond pink, it took on a Rosicrucian beam inspir’d by her agape so she’s all standing there drooling _____For a moment a Radical spiritism— Smooth is _____conservative. From that surface on Amplify went flat on ice rink onto a book, «The confusion of persons is always the evil of the city» Just looking for some triplicity, you? Put your hand up, under my black cotton turtleneck below a celluloid collar Earnest living

SONNET 59 << My face in thine eye, and thine in mine >> is true speech, and is I read naturally, is male, and if, I did not look but basketfuls of presumptive eggs all wet do nothing for us playing at it. If and is don't lack for harmless napkins like freed, unending time bleats through the washed away. In mine, suns dulcet polishing of a tlooth, << as much falsity as I can use, I carry >> On the level, a prop- osition to disrobe contra shit on the streets steams near a hot- spot a relationship a sign a man pinned to your back moves a name I'd armament but you know in a flageolet sitch I'd do any- thing for you so. On the level? She ran her car aground as his ships firing agony in sand mag- netized black screens of mites, her car OK tho, it hurts, hood- winked and The Image in Form is a book of art writing by Adrian Stokes and also in Malina the fact is << I've never been happy, but I have seen beauty. >> What a fine replacement. Blubbery and dying in my same as a breastbone for you is some fixed charge waiting for Papermate® to stir a con- ditional tense apparation, or is that a coffee, tedious wall clouds are rather of soap, see and hath sense since torment and hydromancy bothered to tune. More, more if must be, more if I’d be into it, I said I’d do whatever. What would she of the unmistake- ably Gothic appearance write me, «I’m losing my mind with probity presumably forever,» sure, I like most care more than fuck- ing Tiffany’s rattle, inlaid with let’s book it to Alpine, if a diviner knew you then too as I do. I wish she would tell me what to do with you, or if I did look, How marvelous to see you, post-screening, makes «true hearts in plain faces rest» more larding and accurate? Or whether revolution be the same. In 1938, hotspot was employed in the firefighting sense and whitish smoke employment gives other women illustrates finitude onscreen, a labor of demand. If other women wanted finitude over touchable repetition or if I beat and beat salad or roast new potatoes deeply in salt and oil and exclaim their spits as an otter might shriek the slightest un- attitude vocable across your hunks in Pisces comportment, or with happens in trying and apts. to go mad in, surely it’s been nothing near this terrific face I never in real head’d defenestrate _____ Corina Copp is a writer and theater artist based in New York. She is the author of the chapbooks ALL STOCK MUST GO, Miracle Mare, and Pro Magenta/Be Met, among others. Recent writing can be found in Cabinet, BOMB, Boston Review, Corrected Slogans: Reading and Writing Conceptualism (Triple Canopy), and elsewhere. She is developing a three-part play entitled The Whole Tragedy of the Inability to Love, inspired by the successive forms of the work of Marguerite Duras. The Green Ray (Ugly Duckling Presse, 2015) is her first full-length book. “Sonnet 59” — appeared previously as a translation of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 59 for The Sonnets: Translating and Rewriting Shakespeare (Nightboat Books, 2013). Edited by Sharmila Cohen and Paul Legault. Also included in the chapbook Miracle Mare (Trafficker Press, 2013).   Photo courtesy of Lawrence Schwartzwald.