Amputee City by Tina Posner Je me souviens -Quebec license plates Iâ€™ve been coloring my teeth for God, whose presence is confirmed by the tunnel graffiti: â€œSome things I allay, and some things I destroy.â€ Itâ€™s those dream-logic moves that cause imaginary ancestors to cluck tongues and disapprove. They say: â€œSuzanne, all your questions turn to sand.â€ But thatâ€™s not my name. And the sirens are constant now, like an astringent seeping into An opened wound. The prediction has passed its expiration pointâ€”time to cast the moldy dish out of that sad refrigerator heart. Some say the wish inside self-mutilation is surprisingly healthyâ€”an ad homonym attack on on French chaos with English cows. But cleverness wonâ€™t take you very far. From here I go alone to bump along the supplicant trail where trampled dust rains back down tacit blessings from the patron saint of amputees.