apalled by your memories, of cytoplasm & fibrinopeptides, spirochaetes syphilis kisses. at the bottom of the well you've been imprisoned in, you spend your hours trying to imagine which wish was attatched to each coin, hoping a monkey in a tin foil helmet will descend from above & grant you a roast beef sandwich. you imagine your flesh lighting up like fireworks, & dream about your brother; though the division in the words that seperate them, imagine from dream, smudges & dims. (this charity work) i'll tell you one thing i know. its not the american way.