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

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

So these are the hills of home. H… nearly subliminal. To see them is… double, hear bad puns delivered wi… An untoward familiarity. Rising from my sleep, the road is…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far

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,