You pronounce beauty like bow-tie, you speak bad English to get back at them, harrowed nuns who did you in at Catholic school, then that very religious girl who broke your heart on graduation, you said religion has no faults and you, you have religions too but you’d keep them secret, because convictions are continuous
and anything that you can think of is true, automatically true.
You do not talk about beauty of faces with me because you, no one knows what you look like, you say that I am beautiful but you also tell me that you call everyone beautiful, you are a mother to me. You say, are you truly beautiful if you scrape all that crap off of your face, i say let me be and you are angry because your son, your adopted son and his friend does not talk about beauty, they are brutalist and violence and short.
A gallery room. Detective music. No paintings but you are supposed to find the painting in the room. Nothing on the walls, the artist in the room. Find the painter.