celia scatters pennies on the floor in a not random manner.
acrobats call on the phone, from a height. there are no messages.
I wrap a towel around my waste and pretend not to hear.
there are more alphabets in the world than you would guess.

“don’t fall in love with sounds that you can’t yourself make,”
is what she told me. she had a collection of puppets. medallions
seemed comfortable pinned to her breast, but never learned to sing.
the beast in your nightmare calls me friend, sometimes brother.

I never met a sound I couldn’t fake. there she goes again. listen.
listen. these moccasins don’t make a sound on the floor.
paranoiac. absolution. trick or treat. she sends me out for fuel,
but I get enamored with a rattlesnake and forget to return the favor.