You are clearly preoccupied with love. See the way you sift through the lint from your purse, searching for the backing of an earring. See the runway of broken leaves and bread crumbs collecting under the emergency brake in your car. Messy, messy. You wear your dirty denim jacket to the doctor’s office, you push your nail beds back until they bleed. You fill your bathtub every second evening, pour large goblets of red wine, sit on the sill of the tub naked, holding the wine, waiting for the water to cool. (You always run your baths too hot.) The day begins with a whisper and all day you whisper to yourself. No jazz, it hurts your head. No, you want a music that permits the swagger of your heart, its lazy eye, its unkempt hairdo.