FAKE BIOGRAPHY
I can circumnavigate the globe in
a simple fortnight of pain. Like
Magellan himself, I wear an ermine
robe. I have Neptune's sceptre to
bash on heads and a fire-pit always
burns on the floor of my cell. All
those army men, around me, they
are talking fast : fear and the old
quandary of 'live or die.' Like
firemen figuring out strategy
while before them the buildings
burn. I was born on Monticello
Road, Timber Valley, Montana.
My mother's kin was my wetnurse
twice, and I stayed in bed until I
was twelve. Midwives, it seem,
came and went. I once knew a
girl who wanted only that - to be
a working midwife in a Dutch
colony of dread. Now she's gone,
wearing tattoos and blarney stones,
and talking her meters for dinner.
My father was an axe-man for the
Lansing Lumber Yard, cutting trees
for pay and floating them down
random rivers. Some stayed in the
rivers; some ended up slivers,
broken on the falls below.
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