Quotes from Erin Belieu

I root through your remains, looking for the black box. Nothing left but glossy chunks, a pimp's platinum tooth clanking inside the urn. I play you over and over, my beloved conspiracy, my personal Zapruder film

and before him, the minstrel who smeared on love's blackface, rattling his damage like a tambourine. I have been the deadest nag limping circles around the paddock, have flown to beady pieces, sick as the tongue of mercury at the thermometer's tip.