It's six AM. A breath of cold mist revitalizes the vines. We shiver. Everything is recycling.
Birds eat stale chips, by the tractor, near the jellybean factory. A plastic bag reflects the sunlight. Grass grows through the gravel, by the tractor.
We look up.
Swallows turn swiftly beside the jellybean factory. A breath of warm air revitalizes the vines.
Everything is in front of the mailboxes on the next page. We spend time near the mailboxes on a warm day. The tractor is a place of you.
Down the road, we find Joe's Hotdogs.
We open our mouths to be.
It's easy dividing the hot dog bun,
we're alive. The hot dog is devoured.
Eating it takes forever, mouths going, enjoying.
A hot dog in a bun doesn't know these things.
It's hard, keeping our mouths shut and eyes open,
and keeping mouths open and eyes shut.
We quiver.
We peel the wallpaper in binary. We realize the dunes.
There is an
albatross perched on the next page,
pecking at the cracks, taking a fork in the dunes.
We eat fruit, by the tractor, near the mailboxes,
where cool mist revitalizes the peaches,
beside the jellybean factory.
Looking up, swallows turn swiftly.
Plastic bags reflect in the light; going thirty in the dunes.
There's a little fork there, doing twenty.
A cat has a hot dog bun with everything.
Everything is going back there now.
Another egg emerges.
There's a fork in the hot dog bun.
Everything is in a hot dog bun.
Grass is growing through the gravel.
We're going fifty in a hot dog bun.
Everything's in a hot dog bun.
Now the sun is up; we're getting warmer again.
There's a photograph of that road, on a warm day;
Some grass, and a bit of gravel, by a tractor, beside the house.