where the writers are
fog and cotton, chainsaws




I. Bones and gold and lilac, various freckled colors.


Three-year-old skeletons can taunt even after their heads are removed. Her story about what happens to the white stunt horse after filming makes you skirt the lake for a year. She says, “I see you” until your head spins. You forget to worry about how they made noise without tongues.


II. Green animal foam, the daughter's mouth.


Blonde girls crawl in and out of basement windows, make their plastic horses whisper to each other about swim lessons. Heaven, saturated with fake red daisies and blue lawns, takes up a lot of screen time.


III. Molars, chipped scrimshaw, spoiled milk.


A trick with tongue-colored chewing gum. Nonetheless, life-sized. A ghost, made entirely of acrylic and construction paper, dangling near the chalkboard. Once again, the dailies are missing. Scotch-tape holds together the ribs she broke.


IV. Chainsaws, cotton, clouds and fog.



More special effects. She won't ride the mole to the lake. You're 100% sure this time. She insults your pedicure – calls you “French”. You know it's her graffiti you wake up with on your face.