Lapid in the morning,
a carol faced his trumpeteer,
and poured wax into fat.
The tax of Pith
brought the durdeller
to his weeds.

-Simon

Functioning only with bathing bread, Cline watched us from the smoke and laughed and laughed. We felt no shame or anger, but I knew that he had already spun his fault on us.

My place would be a palmer, if it were up to me. I knew how to bake and sit as well as anyone.

I remember when I was a stump, before I had grown teeth, and I could only fall downward (before my brother woke up, when my mother could still fly). I learned to speak and swallow very early, but I refused clothes, especially canvas. It was then I earned my voice. I remember it well-- it had been my father's. It was a good size, with no wires or feathers. I walked it along the shore of the lake until I grew tired and we slept in the water.

Then that dream.

She washed me and found my heart to eat. She wore vines on her face and kissed and bit me. I felt the sand and salt creep into the blood below my feet. I could not swim away, I could not swim away. She flew with me in her breast, my teeth falling out like a river onto the houses. we flew high to meet Travis in his bed, but I could not see. Suddenly the canopy was metal and felt solid. I awoke in a fever, puking and squealing. I still tasted the metal long after it had gone. I decided then I wanted to be a palmer, so that no one else would have to dream.

The Replication Fork

To one who chooses use of The Replication Fork, beware its perils:

-does not deserve appropriatism.
-finds conductivity through application of Golgi Apparatus¹.
-ATTENTION: avoid misusage in Days of Flynn!
-aversion to dogs, horses, and women.
-compatible with Okazaki fragments, helical shape.

Anecdote:

Jim often felt suspicious of his dead wife, so he sought to find her using The Replication Fork. Upon his arrival at her tomb, Jim succumbed to sleep. When Travis awoke, Jim was late. For this, his hands and tail were removed, and he could no longer fuck. Despite his pleas, Jim was given his final book. This is why extreme caution must be used with The Replication Fork, and all of it BROTHERS!

¹: Crime.

pushed gums through nail
splintered metal strides
in tooth broken mandible
locust searched for food
in empty slots grew tall
within glass to her eggs
brother watched from bed
bishop broke down travis
stranger stranger travel
fucked her liver groaned
eyes eyes eyes eyes eyes
mother's wings my father
walked despite that mask
count the fish child too
when did a snake pour in
so the living hand agape
unfurled its grasp plant
your feet within a mouth
teeth and teeth and eyes
fucked to remember death
in the burial palace day
your brother was a horse
take off the hat and run
peel out your eyes today
for your glass and blood
you'll always be the son

The Trial had been a success, so my father had a celebration in our garden. We had not had a celebration since before my brother slept, and my mother finally remembered her face. Her wings had begun to return, too. Meredith's family arrived early-- our fathers were both old men. Her dresses looked pale and comfortable, thier buttons replaced with teeth and her budding wings were draped gently on her shoulders. I took her to show her where I had buried the tree she gave me. We walked in silence past the stable, passing our hands to the new guests. Meredith looked at the Bishop, who was smiling. She smiled, too. Meredith's teeth looked white and round beneath her lips. I wanted to take them all out with my throat. I heard my horse dancing behind us, but I did not mind.

We spent the morning drinking his shadow and touching his face. The Stranger never spoke, for he had no tongue. Cline thought he looked like a dog, and tried to whip him. Our fathers would eat us if they knew we had not strangled the traveler. His flesh was blue, and he had no hat. I tried to count his eyes, but there were too many. Cline threw a brick from his pocket, but the Stranger did not move. I threw one too, to try and burst him. We threw bricks until he melted, so we collected his eyes and fruit.

My mother screamed from the valley, and I knew The Bishop was angry. The canopy started to sink, but before I could gather my cloak, Cline was already running down the hill. I looked back at the pile of Stranger, and he twitched just so. I threw my last brick into his face. His hand jumped from his chest and shimmered. Curious, I bent to see what had flashed. I wanted to wear his skin home, but my father would never let me wear a Stranger's corpse. Instead, I took the ornament from his wrist and stuffed it in my cloak. The canopy grew dark, and Travis was hungry.

A trial came Thursday, and my father wore his mask. The whole town would be there, and so we soaked our lips in wax that morning. Soon I would wear a new hat, but it was not that time yet. The trials were long and never exciting, but it would be nice to see Meredith and Cline and perhaps gather teeth on the way home. In town, everyone spilled their words on the wood, and Frank had to mop them. Frank's mop was louder than anyone's and he collected the language to be heard. I saw my Uncle Wendell standing behind a man that might have been my father, but I could not tell because of his mask. I searched for Meredith, but she may have been swimming that morning.

Cline kicked me in the ass and slapped my shoulder. I spun around quickly and he smiled. Cline wore a new hat and I turned orange when I saw it. His hat curved and stretched to the past, and its brim was bright and angled. It smelled new. Come on, he said, I have something to show you.

We walked quickly away from the Square, and my heart began to cry. I felt as though I had to eat, or maybe die. Cline picked up his cloak so his feet would move faster and grow no roots. The asphalt burned my feet, so I ran, too. Soon, the Square grew small and old; we were almost to the Lake. Hurry! he squelched. I could feel the glass thicker underfoot. Travis pushed me down, but I started breathing red for him. Cline ran faster ahead, his large feet whimpering loudly. Then, in the distance, under the canopy-- I saw a traveler approach.

A Spectre called me last night to follow her down to the meadow. I had never seen one before, and it didn't swim the way I expected. Every Spectre is different, says Uncle Wendell. I managed to walk close enough to smell her; I knew it was a Horse Spectre (rare). Her cloak had torn and it lost its luster, but she still wore it proudly. Her eyes pointed me to the forest, but I had already frozen. I tried to sleep myself, but I could not. Fear swam down from the trees and wet my face. The Spectre bucked and cooed. When she began to sing, I fell on the ground and bruised my knees.

My mother said it meant that I would never die, since I heard the Spectre sing.

Meredith didn't believe me. We sat under the Bishop while Travis slept. I wanted to take off my hat and show her my face, but I felt silly. I wanted to stay there forever, but everyone kept biting us and we had to go back to her father's patio. Before I left, Meredith gave me a small tree, wrapped in a book.

For luck.

The Story of The Clock

Travis does not recognize time.
We shall turn our faces away from time and consider ourselves instead.
When children are forced to live with the Bishop, we shall thank him with sleep.
We shall know to thwart any apparatus that disturbs our sleep.
When Travis wakes, then we too, shall wake.

It came time to learn on Monday. I hated learning more than I hated Fish or the Vagrants. My father said I would not have to wear a hat if I learned. I said I would rather wear a mask if it meant I didn't have to learn. He crushed my cheeks when Isaid that and threw my face against the wall. My mother came in from the patio and put me in her hands. My father said he didn't mean to break me, but I still had to learn. He said I should never say that about a mask.

The reason is that my father had to wear a mask on Thursday, and that meant he could not sleep or eat. No one knows my father while he wears his mask. He said it is the only way to keep my brother sleeping, and I should be so lucky that I get to learn. I still hated to learn.

Cline found a baby under the pier, so we met there to drown it. Meredith came, too. She wore a new hat and shirt and I saw where her wings were beginning to grow. Meredith said that we should not feed the baby, or it would try to kill us. It would be best to drown it before it grew any larger. Cline's face was slipping and he poked at the baby with a long piece of metal.

We wrapped the baby in an umbrella and walked into the ocean. Cline pushed it into the floor and swam down to wake up the Fish. They took the baby, and I thought of the Vagrants. I thought of their claws and black teeth and cleft noses. The Vagrants were not allowed to have eyes, so they did not know how they appeared. I wished I had no eyes, but not loud enough that Meredith or Cline could hear me. After Cline finished killing the baby, we wanted to eat.

Meredith took off her hat while we ate, and I saw her face. I thought to ask her if I could take part of it, but I thought better. Cline saw me and smiled. He knew what I wanted to do, and he smiled. Let's have a laugh, Cline said. I knew he aimed to trick me, maybe make my teeth fall out. What do you suggest? Meredith said. Her voice looked orange and round and her breath fell on the table.

Let's wake the dogs. Cline said. His father hated dogs, and held them up on spears in his yard until they slept. I looked at Meredith, who put on her hat. She rose to leave, and I tried to help her with her dresses, but she ran away too quickly. Cline laughed.

The children who ended up born on Thursday all have too many eyes, says my father. I listened to him, but I really wanted to rest and weep for the rest of the afternoon. All the stores had closed and water started to boil again. We waited until it was done, and then rose from the ground. We unburied ourselves, my father and me. My hat had grown since the last time we rode to town. Town had changed, too. No longer was there a palmer to greet us, nor were there dogs hung on stilts.

I was afraid of the Vagrants.

The Vagrants rolled in on their bellies and struck the soil with their teeth. The held the ground up for us, churned it between their fingers and let slugs drip down from the tips. They bared their teeth at my horse, and caused him to hop and buck. I held tight and knew that they wouldn't come any closer. With their knives and hatchets they screamed, yelped and hollered at us. My father turned back from his horse and looked at me in my eyes, and nodded firm. We took off through the square and caused a shuffle from the men on wheels. They dipped their heads and folded their hands.

On Saturday, I went swimming in the Lake with Meredith. We stared into the sky and wathced the spears plummet toward us. My mother said to never look at the sky during the day, but the water skewed it. Under the Lake, I saw Meredith's nipple and thought of my oven, and about fucking. We wore out until we fell asleep in the Lake, and then the spears come rushing. The y were the size of Trees and sharp like dog teeth. I laughed, immersed and alone, Meredith treading fiercely.

My mother's wings molted. Soon we would see the ribs on her back, stretching the flesh tight on her gray bones. The night of my brother's sleep, we let him in the fire on our patio. My father pressed his own face to the flames, licking the dust all floating around us.

My brother's name is never said again.

It came time to feed and sleep the horses, and my father put on his gloves and bit his tongue. (Horses smell blood, and its best to take it in your mouth.) We walked to the edge of the garden, my father's tongue followed us halfway there. He could not stop it from following. Blood spilled all over the dirt. My father spat and tapped his teeth to his knuckles. We can't keep talking, he said the horses won't sleep. I knew to lie down myself. My feet had said all they knew, and it was too loud and too late. The horses knew better than to sleep. It was night and The Bishop was nodding. My father was sweating from his nose and crotch, and we could hear The Bishop start to cry.

My horse was not asleep. He wrestled the lead robe from his haunches and bucked until no one was biting him. I asked him to sit on the dirt and count the worms, but he knew better. This horse was not unlike my brother. He knew when to eat and when to hide. I wanted to sleep there, with him, and let my eyes drip onto his thick neck until it was soaked and soft. I wanted him to carry me to Thursday and lick the sweat from my ear and chest. My father called to me, and I followed him back to the garden, and into the patio-- my mother shaking and sweating there.

Then went my father to sweep up her feathers.

No other Dream can match his artistry
in counterfeiting men: their voice, their gait,
their face - their moods; and, too, he imitates
their dress precisely and the words they use
most frequently. But he mimes only men...

-Onid

At the time of boiling, no one noticed that we had been missing for a full night. We did not hide, though we escaped the principles of the day. We ignored the sun and chose not to feed our dog (or we did not eat any of the garden). So our skin stayed where it belonged, our hats and scarves still kept us safe, and our horses stayed asleep. And so they boiled without us-- they didn't see our shadows, so they didn't know where we were. Our feet were not too big to let roots grow from them, but not so pink to move our legs. This is why we were buried.

Tonight, the Bishop removed his face and placed all the sadness on me, on my brother. Our bodies mistook the saliva for blood, and we winced at its warmth. My brother was frozen there and forgot how to breathe. The shore kissed my lungs and everyone gathered around to see. To see my blue brother and me. To see who had remembered, who had paid the tax of forgiveness.

So they sent my brother back to the hospital, to sleep.