With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—

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

Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have

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

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

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

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

It’s as if we’ve just been turned… in order to learn that the beetle we’ve caught and are now devouring is our elder brother

Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.