Today I found a baby's glovenLying on the drainage board so stillnYesterday a leather glove from the slim hand of a woman.nThe next time I saw one it was lying half frozen and twisted on the kerb..nAnd I, now I have my own private collectionnAll lined in rows when you open up the wardrobe doorsnNow I have no room for my obsessionnLined up and labeled in neat little packets.nnThe next time I saw one it stuck inside my head nAnd became all that I could think about.nI'll think twice before I pick it up this timenSince I thought about what it had done nAnd where it had been and who it had belonged tonAnd I'll twice before I pick it up this timenI thought about who it might have done nAnd where it had come from and what it might have belonged to.nThe next time I saw one I had that itching sensation nBut my hands stayed by my sides and I couldn't take it.nnAnd through wax seals and padlocksnA hand through my ribcage.nPast the choking I saw palms and fingers grasping shoulders, collarbone, crushing.nI imagined myself hacking desperately at a sea of appendages,nForward and right, freeing myself like a butcher, nFeeling the mash of bone and sinew running slowly down the front of my bodynnAnd I couldn't take it any more,nI said, I've got to go, I've got to get out of here,nAnd I ran down the street,nI've got to get out of here,nI've got to go