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“It’s a waste of time lookin’ over your shoulder, Buck,” Pop said. “You already know there’s a herd of folk behind you, better’n you at what you do, just waitin’ to pound you under their hooves, another competitor bites the dust. Speed’s the key Son, which you got, and cleverness, which you don’t, but long as you’re out there smilin’ ahead of the pack, you’ll seal the deal and no one’ll know they got took till the herd come through, and then, chances are folk’ll just be plain confounded by all the blather and tell’em to get the hell outta town.”

The laughter that echoed down the marble footsteps of the corridor banged around in her flowerbrain. She inhaled the smell of violets and felt them bang her head against the wall again. Or was it all in her head? There was no separation between her world and that world anymore; no protective membrane; the egg had finally cracked and she was visible to everyone else and they were visible to her. She could not hurt them, but was so afraid of hurting them.

New birds, cooed the mother pigeon, turning the baby little eggs over with her sharp sharp beak. Her beak could peck a pecan in half in less than the time it took for her to swallow it, but her beak never pierced through the thin shells of the eggs. She wore the bright blue shawl of a common middleaged mother pigeon.

Joe was a planter of peanuts, a Paraguay dirt king, come to Tennessee with his wife and pock-faced kids, farm hands all. They looked like peanuts, smelled like peanuts, ate peanuts–dry roasted and boiled—made peanut oil and flour and made a fortune. “Peanuts is the best thing God ever invented,” says Joe. “Next to peas and beans,” his wife added. Then one tragic day, their newborn went into shock after his first suckling of peanut milk. “Boy’s allergic to peanuts,” the Doc said. “You been foolin round, Wife?” Joe yelled. According to the DNA test, the kid was his but Joe had to deny it, lose his wife or lose his mind.

i’m going down to the metro today, to see what there is to see. i’ll be joining colleges and friends. I’ll be presenting, so please stick around, and I’ll be dancing and following a tour, the last one trailing behind. Yes! that’s where you’ll see me, wandering in the pack, and singled out on stage. come see.

Do you know how holes are created? Holes signify that something that was once there, is now lost. Holes in skulls show where eyes used to be; holes in bodies show where skin used to be, and holes in the earth show us places where cities used to be.