Kirk "slept with over a thousand women" Kent
on the phone. He's done this, he's done that. With her and her.
He doesn't remember the names. Some have paid him.
I try to talk. He puts me on hold, picking out a fresh shirt
for this evening's date. In his wardrobe, the shrunken heads
of his thousand conquests cause the hangers to rattle
with their chatter. 'You babies have slimmed down nicely,'
he tells them. He's got no realised gifts, brings up his sexploits
when with people who are able. Yet
Kirk and his kind are taking over. They've trapped me
in the leaden pause at the other end of the phone, as if
they are real and I am the shadow. But I have developed
a serum that makes feeling essential. One by one,
I will pierce them all with it. In the garden's hush, I string
my Locrian bow, fix feathers to my darts.
