excerpt from slab by selah saterstrom (coffeehouse press, p. 76)
get a thorn from a white rose bush. and a box of betty crocker red velvet cake mix. acquire a jar of gold, magnetic sand. goat milk, fresh if you can arrange it, you will need a whole cup. and bowls: two small, one large, glass, and clear. we shall need a towel too. petition that the dram correspond to the nine conditions, and a bench, chapel length, and a man's bed. warm the wax. form one portion of the halved wax into the shape of him. form one portion of the halved wax into the shape of you. bake the red velvet cake using black hen eggs. after it springs from the pan, knife the red, steaming bread and slip in a dead relative's lock of hair. bury the cake in your backyard, under a tree, whole, with birthday candles on top, burning. balm, enough to coat the entire sarcophagus, and wash your slips in blue water that has within it one pinch of saltpeter. and after you have done these things, all these goddamned things, you will be done with it. you will be done.
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