Today I found a baby's glove lying on the drainage board, so still. Yesterday a leather glove from the slim hand of a woman. The next time I saw one, it was lying half frozen and twisted on the kerb. Now I have my own private collection all lined in rows when you open up the wardrobe doors. Now I have no room for my obsession lined up and labelled in neat little packets. The next time I saw one it stuck inside my head and became all that I could think about. I'll think twice before I pick it up this time. Since I thought about what it had done and where it had been and who it had belonged to, I'll think twice before I pick it up this time. The next time I saw one I had that itching sensation but my hands stayed by my sides and I couldn't take it. Through wax seals and padlocks... A hand through my ribcage, past the choking I saw palms and fingers grasping shoulders... collarbone... crushing. I imagined myself hacking desperately at a sea of appendages, forward and right, freeing myself like a butcher, feeling the mash of bone and sinew running slowly down the front of my body. I couldn't take it anymore, 'I said, I've got to go, I've got to get out of here', and I ran down the street, 'I've got to get out of here, I've got to go'.
