I pocket the white root of my enemy’s fantasy and bribe my father with money for a lottery ticket.  I hear god say yes it will be the god of all.  it’s a good day and on such my mother swallows her brother’s morning cigarette and tries to get someone to kiss her neck.  on such my sister wonders deep down if her doll is wearing enough lotion.  I think to flee but know fleeing looks on paper too much like what it is.  the skull is the grave of the brain, the skull is the boat…  if other houses catch fire it’s because ours is done burning.