Modal Verb SeleÀion tam blaxter Sidestepping what should occupy my mind (a mass for the dead, requiem peace of mourning backdrop), I instead begin to amass should nots—until this fleeting piece of morningcalm welling up mid-afternoon is cast in overlapping panics: lessons, sins and sins imagined are ordered by caste of allowability. Of course, as the light lessens so too distress: I make coffees and teas, allow my interest to be piqued by passing publications (b&w nudes tease next to wordy undergrad outpourings). These peaked summits of graphed unsettledness have become my rite— the headlines of myself-as-tabloid (for which I write).
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