“must represent the governess for, of course, the creature itsel… could not inspire such terror.” staring at me fixedly, no trace of recognition.

Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”

The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view

If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response

You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever

We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the

Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as

There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way

spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!

What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…

The doll told me to exist. It said, “Hypnotize yourself.” It said time would be transfixed.

You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,