I am going bad into the greater telephone. I call you to say that I will give you my time, anytime -- that I will pick up, pour myself into the receiver; I have long distance.
I soak my teeth in goat milk and it gets lonely. I've been losing hair in patches. I smell of death and have nightmares in which I miss myself.
I live on the second floor of a seedy motel made of shit. The lights buzz and flicker with the slap of black flies. A woman rings and I answer only to discover her naked and uneven in the center. I know her but cannot remember her at all. Cheap paperbacks feed like pigs on her parts. I slam the door and hear the sound of angry steps. she tells a man from below that I have rejected her and he threatens to choke on me.
I lock myself in the bath I have boiled. I trace the patterns, touch the spots. In the mirror, one of my eyes swells to twice the size of the other. I am Chinese and I never wake up.
I hear a sound.
