Who Conquers Who, or Surprisingly Good Airplane Food
We keep in touch phone stuff but what do I look like in the cumuli of your mind through the cold halfsandwich of your lunch break— I’m learning I don’t always have to clean my plate, but there’s a saying about wayabout waste? Or is it waist… Anyway, it’s morning and I’ve already been so many people today. Does the me you gather in my absence match the me in my head, the mirror the text snapchat face chat, the fat kid wrapped in gummy memory? Once, we didn’t have the power to turn off— deathless compass darting landward, baskets woven to the gods. Now you, you turn me on.