Follow Through

We’ve been walking for hours. I have too many places in my head. We’re carrying a bundle of coins each, slung over a shoulder. I almost prefer to stay in the desert, where I can see what’s coming. My small bird appears suddenly at my foot. He’s got a worm or a fish or a finger. It’s a finger. I get the sense that we are surrounded by body parts hidden in the landscape. I get the sense that we are meat in the jaws of something larger and slower. I want to warn you, but I don’t warn you. There is no way of knowing the full reality of this fear. To tell you would only spread it like an infection, and it is worthless as a broken phone booth.

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