Horses

The ongoing consequences of being unable quite to put to ruin (in the sense of a ruined village and of a ruined woman) one's desire.

Affection remains basically an idiotic cataclysm that goes off every once in a while in my skull. Get it out. Get it out. But what could be brought out is only what immediately ceases to be, anyway, like ozone way up at the blue.

Or you could put me underneath the hooves.