preservatives

rather than answer the telephone, we will arrange dominoes into stonehenge and we will be the druids. rather than answer the telephone, we will go to the MOMA and point at the exhibit that is a tarpaulin with an electric fan blowing underneath it. rather than answer the telephone, you will skillfully propel a dixon ticonderoga around your finger and i will curl my wrists and wave my elbows in awkward interpretive tribal dance. that way we will fly up away from the city and its rococo people. we will land knee-deep in poppy fields and snort ginger and ice. at the end of the fields we will be sleepy and there will be a lake of honey that is full of stalagmites. we will paddle across the lake in a stolen dinghy, or maybe a canoe. cupped wooden hands gliding over jelly skin, knuckles braiding a hull. for a second you will look anxiously down at the stalagmites and the hundreds of fish suspended, unmoving, wide-eyed in the dense amber. i will say don’t worry, we will find something to be young in.