Did you want me to ingest this?
“Stop talking about porn,”
I entreat, “& start
talking
about yr cigarette. !” Or
that’s what I said I said,
and I didn’t just get this
from the voice. “It’s just
my viscous eye,” he texts,
right back at me, always
pretty good like that.
Along with “Just look up
the word zodiac.” You
know, as if that would
figure everything out.
And that’s me, here,
like usual, just trying
to do that one little
thing, just trying to
figure everything
out, right? Like why
she’s flying through
the air across Market
Street. “It’s not the
voice, you idiot!” says
the voice. “It’s one of
those unfair treats that
come to get served on
happiest occasions.”
A treat. Come along.
Just for me. And
just for you. We
both breathe to-
gether at that one.
