October 25, 2014

The two balls of fur that were crammed into the casing for an eraser were in reality a blind albino guinea pig and its offspring. When it unfurled itself, the parent asked if it could finally get a name. The water bottle would move on its own in the same direction as long as I never lifted it from the table. The man sitting on the couch got angry over the guinea pigs’ new freedom for their existence “ruined the architecture of [his] poem”. Then the larger one ate some of his cabbage from a plastic box.