pt 10

No, I think not, no. I have never been invisible. A nearer question to the truth goes, "Have you ever Not-Been-Seen?" There is a rockshelter in the mall by my old house and in there nobody sees you and the gardens spray delicious scent into the upward drafts toward its mouth. The rockshelter sighs with you in it and you realize that everything breathes. I am the body breath, you recognize, and consider how you never looked at it like that before and get glad you never killed yourself. I am the body breath, you think and then remember your face as a quarter frame of the world around it and a volcano of moths issues from three separate perforations in the picture of the sun you've been holding. I am the sun, you think, and push long knives into anything that looks cold. I have failed at being the sun because I haven't been beaming, you think, and thrash at a hardcore show until you can't see.