Dirt Bike Town and jambalaya. So, in a voice, I became someone else. The afterlife of art as someone else’s lips. I am ambivalent that achievement is achievement. His tongue is in your mouth. No one is unique because no one can be. My answer to just about everything is to refuse to be taken hostage. I was born in a green house. A chicken scratch house. It has always looked like a wet place of cardboard at Stilt Street on the corner of Thelma. Tell me, what is drifting if it’s not a gauze covering a wound, then what is it. What you stand on can always be pulled out from under you. Your summer eyes are rarely manic when there’s rain.