I can imagine how it would be to dangle from seven ropes like so. To gently be left swaying to stare at the floor after some ministrations of urs. Pressure at all points, skin hot and cold from circulation rearranged. Things wet, things tight things burning. There is the pining creak of rope. the thunder of blood in my cheeks the sound of your footstep, the cool rustle of cotton. What would you say? Will I be able to be silent? Just quiet even.... What tool is next? I can take it, I can take it try me.

I saw the doctor today, he said they would have to put three stitches through each tear duct, or else fill up the hole under my ribs with something. What sort of thing, doctor? Whatever it is you find. Well, not for want of looking. So I'd asked to have the well of tears removed instead. The doctor shook his head. You need those, and they have to last you...let me see? He took my palm from me and looked at lines, squinted at shadows. Well, for a while yet. See here, there are crossroads...and sometimes, you need a thing to bargain with....the salt in that water counts for something. I think. We should just fill er up: the hole. Oh, a well, a hole, a funnel for saltwater. Go looking through your things he said. Find a few precious baubles that you will miss, they ougth to fit from...so to so. He closed my fist in his hands, he shook it at me. Come back in a fortnight. O, and none to do with him who took the original , please, I hate to see my work undone. Yes, sir, yes doctor.