Fluorescence

This is my attempt. A highlighter rolls to the ground and stops. I would like to buy a dress, not with flowers but which fits my hips. Late light sky, delusion and cardboard boxes scatter. I have been hallucinating for days. Cranberries bleed the walls dark. Temperate fever wavers in out. One ghost comprised of five personalities sings to me. And a flute. A Japanese figurehead. Mouth taut as an O timbres out vibration in the groins. In the outer orbit, voices begin every sentence: I said blubber blubber I said blabber blabber I said puberty puberty. In other words, nothing. Have you done something stupid? There is not a fan at the end of the hallway, but there should be. A mother listens to this irrationale. Tears roll down the receiver. Grammar sometimes truncates for good purpose. There is nowhere to park is emblematic of the busy globe. Unforeign foreigners learn the same language, bleached. Other people wear dresses that belong to their bodies. This is my attempt to deflate a raging abdomen.