we have come because you’ve been associated with sadness.  try to pretend we’re here.  as a kidnapper mum about being pregnant, you will soon have something to say to the microphone in your bra.  I am the face of this operation.  my lips are whites only like certain water fountains.  thoughts on the whereabouts of the gun you own are superseded by images you dance to of babies born wearing mittens.  in your father’s abandoned car you will be asked to recall the location of the buttons on the dashboard your brother showed himself to press.  we love your brother.  he invented a game, what was it?, kick if you’ve been muzzled by god.