What it would occur to someone to give to someone else.
What it would occur to someone to give to a child.

I was being pulled

toward a mirror's gray arcs and red jagged day edges. It's blanketing something:
  the left side of my left leg or a white rectangle with a red outline that ripples
  and flaps, beating the air. Raising and turning. Turning to the left and arching
  the back to kick.

Squares. Ovals. Triangles.

He covered his mouth, repositioned the hand. He repositioned the foreleg to
 face the bubblewrap. A spoke. Arm puckered like a tarp. Having

to pull it
inside. Inside. A kick, a tooth, taste of a tooth, triads.

He wanted everything to keep repeating.

Studies of shoulders. Two studies of a crucified man.

Outline. Rotating it, receiving? Flashing? Torn? Wax?
Some?

A sponge, hollow earth. A sponge was bearing the weight of a hat.
The translucent

outline of a head or of a seated figure with a child
is covering what it opens around. Here, someone said,
please take this.

That was the time I was afraid to arrive without a gift.

I remember my body was covered in a pale pink foam.

The facet was moving in and out: someone. Way it's
held. All on

one green square: green petals, green dogs. Someone: my

illuminated with my. Three parallel lines - forever, every . . .
or a half peach floating in a sphere of jelly. Someone:

the cutting method. Touched the

red breath red ridged pillow of day water day.

Cupping one’s lower jaw with the fingers

inside the mouth. Wants to know how the placement.

Everyone no source wants to be . . .
“I was putting it on to go practice.” It’s

like crawling into clouds.

Fluorescent. Fluorescent pulsing abbreviated.
Fluorescent. Pulsing flattening harm. Stand.
Fluorescent. Pulsing stand of.