i do not understand why you are pulled from the sea and placed into an elevator with curvy-haired men and women blooming under flourescent lights and you are still in your scuba gear.

i need to get moving. i need to pull out pots and pans and bang them together as i march down the street. i need to wear one over my head. i need to get out of here because people bleed on my front yard. they are in love and somehow holes are drilled and they spill out. they say "i'd BLEED for you so-and-so" and trace the points of lights zooming around on gnat-wings. they sit in planetariums and sigh dust from their face with their elbows up and the world spins in circles around them. i need to go away so ghosts will walk on me and i will squish out everywhere. it will not be so quiet there and birds will fly into the kitchen all day and we will talk about the rainforest and being lost in the grocery store.
to recreate life out of life and on and on and on.

part domestic ghost































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the digestive system >