Hallelujah Ammonia I
Call this grudge Ammonia. Get the lungs cold like thoughts of inhaling whippets in motels with shag carpet. (Hallelujah! Hysterical occasion!) Get the knees patterned with grass-like imprints, the cups of milk spiked with acrid smelling ammonia. The hair gets softer, the eyes well-rested, the hands more axe-like, for the grudge betrays the body particular. Now call the betrayer Ammonia, as one indebted to reﬂecting cleanliness in public spaces. The arms stay clean as bleached toilets.