| LYRICS/POETRY |
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| MENAGE A TROIS the phone is a character it lies between us breathing we warm it with our bodies it gives nothing back but static but pain the breath of poison in our ear its vein throbs with messages but will not give them up it refuses to make connections a stone we cannot squeeze blood from it cuts us off silent it wants control to exert its influence by just being there it is between us a palpable lie. [From �Translating Sleep � A Serial Meditation on and by Alexander Graham Bell�, Jim Smith, Coach House Press, Woslak and Wynn Publishers Ltd., Toronto, 1998] |
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