Fire-queen writes a letter: run, people, cars.
I think I know best what I find degrading.

If I killed our children and drove with them round town
I’d find that degrading. If I did what I do
to get by as a fashion statement I’d find that
degrading. The correct equation never threatens love.
The correct equation in which faith
can be substituted without any loss for longing – a language
in which I could have been so painlessly saved
which you were supposed to invent for me, but didn’t –
I’d find that degrading.

I’m not enclosing hugs, I don’t send kisses, I wage
war on all fronts. Write back to me asap.