Our honeymoon in Avignon we woke to the crouching man.  “Help you?” I rasped.  You screamed, he vanished.  Ever since, marriage: death’s escape.  I left the glass door open.  Drive-By Truckers my new find, I say, while pouring the gin.  You stare out the window at the mint.  “Let your mom get you that print of Melancholia.  She doesn’t have to fucking live with you.”  Sorrow, southern or otherwise, is tolerable, never.  Almost said “only in art.”  Tell that to Dana Andrews, who craves a painted woman to the point of mastering a child’s game.  Roll into holes a small metal ball.  He smokes two packs a day, drinks before lunch.  Older Andrews, graveled by his habits, got work in UK pulp.  The Night of the Demon.  His getting through the séance is heroic.  Kate Bush evokes the demon in “Hounds of Love.”  Before I married you, her dreaming entranced me in a car to Maine.  “I can’t talk, I am in another world,” I said.  Celtic honeymoons are of stone.  No one gets in or out.  We thought an old house would keep us always improving.  First time I hoisted a sledge, I demoed the hall.  The lead I inhaled, not my drinking, impairs my brain.  Our second home: rotting like the first, but we own power tools.  The firmer the wood, the harder the bed.  Andrews nor anyone else saw Laura, Gene Tierney, in the sack.  You study Gene, you don’t think nipples but couture.  Jayne Mansfield was the first to flash her breasts in mainstream cinema, ’63, year Kennedy was killed.  Tierney fucked Jack.  He dropped her for politics.  Tierney’s daughter Daria, because of a fan’s rubella, was born deaf and half-blind and mentally impaired.  The actress herself suffered bipolar disorder.  Twenty-seven shock treatments.  I swallow eight pills a day for my moods.  If I walk into my state’s asylum, I might never emerge again.  You would not stand outside the gate.  You would not hope.  Would you tell our child I would hurt her?  There was that time in the night I thought your hair was a weasel.  And when I told you I’d sheared my eyelashes.  Don’t take her away.  We witnessed a portal.  Had we stayed quiet, let the man through, how then would our little one cross alone.