go to guy for going to may be all he’s cracked up to be

Kudzu comes. What is always good is going. Vodka or fog. Same face different name. I’ll be her and he’ll be me. I don’t care where the train takes me is a lie. Come again? Auntie fancies himself a trap door gal. Little pill with a writing disorder. Minnie and put put in relationship detox. (How do I explain something silly like blame?) A rock is a rock except when it’s not. In the beginning there is rest. That’s a tell. Rocks know no regret. Introduce the characters to real people from their real lives and the actors can hardly contain themselves from their characters. They are shocked and throbbing and acting like they aren’t acting badly. They are different characters now. Every obsession needs a collaborator in public. Kick a tired life house. Vanity loop (=) small and weak lines accompanied by vomiting. Sensitive to criticism. You is beyond my mind control. Trade a fixation for bones. What a beautiful drama. Like every other pretty store. I wish imagination were real. There there. Stitches stretch. A stretcher. It holds. Gut flora. It is so easy to be part of the problem. Other people squeak. Grease their fears up good in a bumpy blood box doctor. (Doctor says stay in the house to make a home.) Everything has its price. Practice tagging it. Little pill doesn’t feel. Doesn’t feel well. Little pill doesn’t leave. She makes a good house. Aunt gargantua tells pogo to go rub a rock. Who do you worship little pill? I am an Elizabeth. That vomiting and burrowing are at odds. That the house is noisy. That only leaving is real and this is not leaving. That leaving and children are at odds. That all of this is true. That now that alcoholism is over my life feels empty. That bending is silly. That all of this is real. Mother little says the more you play the sooner you lose. Stick the sleepy yo-yo in the frig for vigor. Pogo sticks to minnie’s drip. I don’t care where the train takes me is a lie I have to deal with. Doctor says run around the block. But doctor who wants to be that happy? Minnie is a pink fray. Whatever happens strikes first then wins the crown. Stinkface is a clingy poohbah. Let’s all change names at recess. Pogo is named for gogo who doesn’t go even though pogo is a different stick. He spurts no smoke bone no lily can stop him. All of this is real. Any one of us is capable of killing. Stop it sweet brick gurgle. Don’t think anything that’s not funny. Breaking the bird’s neck won’t take away from the fact that this room gets great light. The dead hold hands and make all their own choices. Right. That’s better egg. (O god says minnie coming. Nothing but pressing matters.) Stinkyrockface in a choke hold. How long will the bird live after its head is severed? I am no brakeman. Names adhere with cheap adhesive. Smelly skin peel. The station teems with chicken and piss. Actual shit on actual sinks. (Green teeth a smearer.) Perspective isn’t real. First light without body. Then body finds light. Still life a target. Birdie jumps.