Jacqueline Rose

Is a fairy Jewess. A sateen cheeked mogul, midwife

of morals and the minutiae of legal systems; the

psychology of guilt beyond guilt, or the curtains and

cloaks of feeling that murderers wear. We are all,

after all, harbingers of the good, or not. She speaks

of lionesses and the disabled gladiators, pinned to

corkboards of perfection on the Cape of Good

Hope. Distilling the violence visited upon good

women, she proffers a vial: humanity. The salve;

exquisite imagination. Spools spill, gold from her

mouth.

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