Rain is coming down on the Naked Lady, the Amaryllis Belladonna, silently toxic. The pink fleshy pastels of the Woolworth postcard drip sap, frighten the young girl child, her thumb deep in her mouth. The Naked Lady, caught in a globule of air, is put into suspension until other arrangements can be made. All you have to do, is wheel the naked lady on her flatbed into full sun and bring her back to life. But she does not want to be resurrected, just so she can fit into another young woman’s life. You scribble your post cards and send words, words, words, not necessarily in orderly fashion.