I was made to be milk glass— Lately, I've been more of a scattering of light, a technicolor oil spill, effervescent kerosene, a phosphene in a running eye, fluorescent aerosol going cumulonimbus in a green sky; a variegated skin rash caused by shining neon bile all festering and iridescent; a tattered road map on the wall of a food court, bearing incandescent roads twisting like snakes eating their own tails; a human being in the form of a kaleidoscopic feedback loop passed back and forth between the mouth and the ear and the mouth and the ear forevermore, burning the tongue, the finger tips and teetering on the edge of glittering, glorious incendium— After the smoke has cleared, I can go back to sleeping on the shelf.