Stranger conversations than this have begun with
less enthusiasm. And tasted less like onions.
The bubblegum in his mouth grew less and less
dry, like the language of commodity. If I really knew
that I were here, would I really care? Rather than, say,
there? My primary plant wilted as this did not blow
my mind. At all. For emphasis? Which threw me into
a bingo frenzy. I daubed well into the night and awoke
from a narcotic frenzy of shallow, binary dreams. And
to discover that I had not vacuumed. After all. As if.
As if I had forgotten why I was doing this.
