A gentle love’s spilling bourbon over my a-line, all thumbs to keep our game up & running. Likewise I’ll write about it. As poet / jewel thief wearing a dress, I might think it profitable to string my sentences together just like paste rubies & artificial pearls deliberately mismatched as in the déshabillé of John Waters’ suburban flats, adroitly inexpensive & passé. Each sentence would go on to shine in gloom as ends won’t match up with beginnings, not quite, each sparkle dulled into an afterthought containing falsehoods but cinched by faintly plausible, recognizable style — sparkle double-dulled-down as I drape my next dress over bowls of Chesapeake crabs & rat traps, a near accident or an accident-in-the-making.