Ferris Wheels

All this breathing. It's insidious. Rape the teddy bear to spare the semen. Ejaculation frescoes glimmer in the shadow on her molting skin.

You're changing, he said. You can't wear that anymore. It's too big. It's too small. You don't want to be found. You want to be discovered. You're a fossil. A fragment of bone in the dirt wondering what it feels like to have skin. Or even be a part of a skeleton. Structure. And whole playing their monopolies in red hotels. Sensible lies that make it easier to fall asleep.

I don't want gardens. Or flowers that only appear when the weather is temperate. I want deafness. Dead things. And lost words. Ghosts confident enough to scare us.

You can't be born knowing. You must learn. Through process of elimination. The names of each of those teddy bears. The color of the shit in their underpants. The reason it's still there.

I can't hear you, she advised. I haven't heard anything since we took off our clothes.