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I. Big, grievous food place, squat on a dust tundra. Understand the difference between man and man eating things manufactured by man. II. There are words the mouth does not know by taste or intercourse: propyl gallate. prop your pills against the gate! III. I have dreams in which I swell to a bulbous tree. IV. We drive in a round, green car. We eat breakfast at a filling station. We make cereal from candy bars and milk. V. The farther I travel south, the more I am reminded of things that I fear: fatness, laryngitis, bodies without heads like public trash bins. I reach the border at Mission, Texas. It costs a quarter to cross: some slotted exchange then a turnstile, like tongue pushing past throat. VI. I eat the words I have not the insides to say. I am force-fed and septic.
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