if yesterday i watched a 40 year old woman get fucked in the ass with her light blue fuzzy socks and sketchers still on, then today is a day for balloons, a day where we hold the steam with our hands until our fingernails loosen and shift, loosen and shift, and when the annoyance is bursting the calm in the room we'll peel them off. this piggy went in my mouth, this piggy smells like dogshit and this piggy was a still born.

maybe in the afternoon you and i could finally love each other, maybe then, maybe when the sun and the moon are far enough apart, there will be space for us to co-exist, like a peace bumper sticker next to a "support the troops" one. maybe when you've fucked me in the ass so many times i could tuck my butthole into my pussy we'll have a laugh together, maybe then, maybe.

this morning i told a story about my father that i didn't know i knew, it was a smell, an wind-full morning, and it fell into my lap, but then of course, that too could have been another one of my delusions, something i've strategically placed in my life to tie all of the loose ends together. i said "when i was four i would wait in the car, (my dad had to drive me to daycare on his way to work) 3:30 in the morning, with it hummm, humming, the smell of camels, stale beer and folgers molesting my stomach, but it was the one moment i had to myself, and i was terrified for him to come back, the awkward hand on the leg, the silence, so every time when he would come back in i'd just pretend i was asleep"

"and is that how you feel now, amanda? like you're in the car waiting?"

"no i feel like i'm still pretending to sleep"