it’s not special. it’s not even all I have to give. its power is that it reminds me of something I had you safeguard in a dream. because I’m looking at the other fathers, I have to massage my gut feeling you’re looking at them too. so there you are beside the random machine I’ve been force feeding the one phrase that frees it to eat for a year. before you were my daughter you were the fortune teller whose teeth I pulled to find out your mother had a girl.