What You Are WitnessingJen Tynes
I am not the plaintive until I make the plaintive cry, an out loud sound. If you are only listening to me you cannot tell if I am talking about the person you remember from this afternoon—green suit, full of consideration: he stands to the side when he draws his little box-cars out of nothing. You cannot tell anyone apart when they wear those big heads of hair. In the courtroom everyone is big- boned and facile according to how they was raised. I would pull you out of the forgiving earth if I thought you could tell me what goes on down there, but you are like everyone, unsure how to die. The defendent only thinks of the other orange Honda, how the sunlight glanced atop it before turning on the waterworks.
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