What never to say? Hang in there.

She thinks of Freud.
I think of Thek.
The end of life paintings.

A picture of the thin white duke on
hands and knees in a tailored suit.
Religion for people who fear hell,
spirituality for people who’ve
survived it. Straining to define it.

Do totems work?

Under a tin fleur-de-lis ceiling—
royalty, purity and light. A birth
right. A drop ceiling is a sordid
ceiling, isn’t it? In church
basements, in doctor and dentist
offices ceilings undyingly drop.
You can’t slacken under a
dropping ceiling. You can’t sleep
like a baby. Wild-eyed, keep me safe.

Do you believe in epigenetics?

Design a mobile to hang above a
child’s crib.
Close eyes, decorate.

— Marin Kosut