B O B to Laura Palmer
This is the water and this is the well. Drink full and descend. The horse is the white of the eyes. And dark within. —Twin Peaks
You state that you have circumscribed my blue veined heart. But I have three: Lion, Lizard, and Goat. Plus three heads which I arrange into a dark blaze. Your pale gestures smart my windpipe and smack of this extinct world. Dragged up just above the surface of an algoid body of water, the slivery blackness consumes the sloped flesh and slicks into placenta. Who eats who and what happens? In this place our blood froths as milled ocean spray, a frenzied feeding, but it is this place where you must also avoid the boxcar abatoir. I shake my heads back and forth while you try to make sense of my multiple mouths and differing hungers. I refuse mirrors; I refuse your gaze though we both know that looking away will not prevent infection. In this place, there is no resistance in distance. I dare you to laugh, writhe in your backward body smear, swear that you cannot see my three heads, swear you can never love me as you kiss all of my foreheads before you sleep. The smoke between my heads thins, following wheel ruts, abscessing in the black slots in the scar tissue where I tried to make you less whole. Laura, your hands devour everything they touch.
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