my friend’s father had his legs break from standing after a day of drinking the father’s milk he said would take our guts to places not even babies had been.  friend took what of it he could into his mouth and left some there to smuggle into mine.  the moms thought we were kissing and his cracked a tooth on a cigarette.  my own swooned but kept composure enough to catch something in her stomach.  I don’t have an ounce of quit in me that’s not addicted to keeping quiet.  I know worry has some use but in these woods I’ve not happened upon any age of tree growing into another.