or information. Suffused with libido. As if she wished to caress the stocks exchanged beneath her. You try to reproduce her song for the class. “All my life / longing / to be / a wife,” you sing. Your voice is like bruised glass. After the second lesson, the institution politely asks you to refrain. You refuse to refrain. For the third lesson, you take your class on a field trip to a slaughter house. “How does it feel to be in the presence of this building?” you ask an empty school bus. Frankly, ok. You read from the guide book, “The building got its form entirely / from the functional / requirements of movement / of cattle / and the evisceration process.” As though compelled by the frenzy of the slaughter, you begin to dance. Your arms and legs resemble a prison in their intricate locking and unlocking. Now you are always dancing.