There is a thin, curvy linebetween laughter and slaughter, I try yellingto you on the roller coaster but my timingis off, our shark bodies flunginto runaway cursive, vestigial Converses dragging serifsacross the clouds. Still, it feels nice to be heldin a system. Look at this shape I’m tracing!Look at the intestinal, steel-swept whale spine of how I’m stayingto the end. In a few minutes, sharing sno-conesbeneath our little quilt of redactions, you’ll bring up how neoconssold out the Amazon. I won’t tell youI wish you would ask me what I’d been trying to tell you.Is there an official corporate sponsor for recognizing a feelingas mostly ridiculous, while feeling it wholly?Mid-air together, in the state-inspected momentum,our city spreads out like a mnemonic that forgotwhat it stands for—the ranch-houses notchedlike foosball teams across the plains,the kids hoping to pass for skater kids all glowingfrom the midway like steeplesfrom a TVA lake. And the horizon window-silling us here, plural, painted shut.