Dear Fi Jae 2 (Ms. Merongrongrong)

Now I know what it is to bite the tongue inside the mink stole: I do not want my inspiration stolen! ms. merongrongrong , for you I do my husband’s hairdo in a kind of flip. Now for once I want to build a data cage, a firewall, encrypt a fiber option, to lock up his image, lock the tick into his rib. I grasp his slim wrist and mask him for the gas: what a pheasant operation, his plumage brilliants as he whites out in closed caption, under glass. A harmless operation, a lipid removal or a viscous camera drip. ms. merongrongrong , please do not misprism me, for normally I am not like this, I do not creep or crypt, do not go hissing, bent double, kettlewaisted, clinched. When pressed I spread; when pinched, pinch; shiv and shinny my way out, make a finger mouth that shrinks the moon to a pupa, shove it in my purse to pupate on my cabbage stash, my petty rash cashola. In your stall, I dump the stenchy contents of my clutch on your counter, your clerk Moonlight scrubs the Wikifile, slicks the nail down to a nib, mums me in muff, ruff, muffler, ruffle, stomacher, pannier of ribbed silk, knight’s visor, hutch where I keep my prize rabbits, ms. merongrongrong I and II, which liplop the moonlit garden in stitched minks. ms. merongrongrong you send the Dutchman moon to touch us you cinch my betrothed ’s throat till he has to swallow what I bite, he drags himself to the window to vomit, he drags the bile sea in drag like a widow with a ghost lover, mourning over the suck white sand in white I wear a glass pane over my face, a teller’s window or a train’s, ms. merongrongrong , I stutter by in sailor’s guise, adrenal sink disguised as swagger, a thickened chest wall, a fat and padded neck. I go a specimen, I pose between the slides for my decline, ms. merongrongrong time thins and quickens, I help my husband up over the lip of the Dutch oven, his flank is ripped, one paw limp, one soft ear hangs by a thread, I lug myself up the path you have prepared for us, the trestle, the wooden tread—