smoke-rings taunt the copycat spirit known as the ghost of my child’s mouth.  on top of that, the crib is giving me grief.  I click the remote at my wife’s body as she compares herself offline to nothing god can search.  the book of frenzied commonplace is stolen by the brother wearing the shoes I gave him to lift his mother at a later

from an earlier
time.  martyr starts before it ends.  a bald man with a comb tries hard to make it happen.  this cracks me so I have to speak on the pregnancy or bust atmosphere not in my house.