back to drinking out of these small blue porcelin cups, this time filled up to the rim with espesso. steam curls off of it with ghostlike fingers, reaching towards the ceiling like a bank teller. my head's half paper waspnests thin; the other half is just the shoal. royal jelly replaces glial cells. i want to unzip the sutures of my skull & let them swarm over trays filled with ink, let them draw alien geographies on windows as they look for escape. thus emptied, this spider's body of mine could get to the bussiness of the Wild Hunt, unleashing havoc on all the unreachable places of the world. how safe is your fallout shelter now? how remote is your grave, rasputin?