Sub,

The girl arrives from a velvet frontier, a suburb of skinned knees. Hands form a cage around the spinning wheel, in search of the fibrous material used to connect people. I have countless opinions on this. 1: An oracle relies on geometric shapes, patterns of shifting sand, and animal entrails to reach a qualified recommendation. One implicates desire via food. Another scrambles to distribute good deeds before the world ends. 2: The girl says, “I will never go to your cabin in the woods.” 3: East coast falls asleep during overtime. Sponsors pitch a history of volcanoes imprinted on the stratosphere. An ark made of gnarled ancient wood binds them to the past. 4: If X is a coefficient of Y and Y has a value greater than its kinetic counterpart then the mouth of the river will swim with dead fishes. Silvery scales, poetic meter. 5: The girl lifts the bowl of soup to her mouth and tilts. Calculations ensue, solid surfaces express temperatures. There are two phases in this mixture. Intestines and model parameters. 6: I envision a world organized around a sequence of sounds. In one ear the ocean pelting down onto the white sand of a long, uninterrupted beach. In the other, the gentle swish of building materials. 7: Particles are subjective. Some address the physical attributes of time and space. Others form abstract palettes onto which slicks of color bifurcate from a mythical point near the center. Similarly, we hear about a new baby the way a writer discards asterisks. Names and theories of names soon dominate the agenda. This is how meaning transforms over generations. Where there used to be a river, a spigot in the back that fails to turn off.

- mission