Drifting through Phoenix on rail. An overweight lady sleeps on the bed of her cheeks, mickey mouse sweater faces me. Middlemen congregate to check their watches against each others’, shifting in disagreement with their prostates. I ask them for the time, they write it down on a sheet and charge me a dollar with no refunds. I have 15 cents, so they tell me it’s 10 seconds.

At home, listening to a girl scream at her worried dog barking at the gate. The dog ain’t cute now so chill the fuck out, she’s curdling milk in the curls of her blonde wig. I imagine her with bug eyed sun glasses and a dress she used to wear when she was ten with cowgirl cut jeans and high heels with silver revolvers as badges. I imagine the milk factory vibrating all the way to my pillow, galloons of cream and bacteria pumped from one section to the other, until they pump into idling semi’s gleaming. I imagine the workers all in white, white clipboards held by clean manicured hands, and an astronaut princess watching over them to choose her favorite one, putting her toenail clippings and lemon juice, at a statue of the goddess of fertility.

I quit my job to treat my body. I quit my body in entertainment. My dog is having nightmares I have no language to stop.