After the quail exploded, the three
had little to say, save, let’s go home.

There is never a right thing to say,
we’re all spitting through our words

and proclamations, distracting others
with the sounds we make. Why don’t we just spoil

each others’ hair, be a pilgrim
in a room full of pilgrims, use a straw

in a number of new ways. My father was asking
me for money, and I told him told him

told him.

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