“It’s got a crack”, she said, and she put the magnifying glass into her lap.
A string of creeping saliva finds its way into the kitchen. Sturdy feet.
Seven days later she boarded the train
for Prague. Trees zipped themselves into greenish lines.
Above a nightshop the neon light vainly tries to reveal the truth.
“God is Everywhere”
A blue fly with an open mouth drills itself into the last slice of pizza.
I remember what I red in a translation of Vonnegut’s Galapagos:
“Here we are dealing with a human flaw”
The milk has gone sour.