a wild boar lung tasted of hay smoke and princess spit: roasted, frozen, thawed by a farmer’s hand, fried on steel. my business card is the yellow that i transfer onto the teeth of rodents.  does everybody play video games except for me?  does this controller’s button control the arm or the hair?  you think i broke my ___ on purpose?  what do you think about when you’re not thinking about my bones?  my lungs?  just write like you can’t.  no meetings.  no discussion.  no antics.  only whole pieces swallowed.  your stomach doesn’t know what to do with the arsonist lumber merchant. the miners pooled their money together and sent me to the fair.  i came back with only the picture of this high dive.  we had a good laugh over the omiyage that we had traded stones for.