Trading

Open the boxes. Digital boxes that vibrate as you move your cursor across them.

See them trussed up, like pigs to be roasted, cooked until the flesh becomes sticky sweet, melting on your tongue.

See them twitch, eyes rolling in their heads like dropped marbles on a summer day.

Watch them, rocking back and forth, lost in the notions of what is/what was/what should be/ what must come to pass.

Hear them babble. Sense and nonsense, doubling back and back again, upon itself.

They are interchangeable, because they are not unique. They style themselves so but they are all just pieces of toffee, nestled in crinkly paper, in your big box.

Swap out the blonde for the brunette, the bald one for the ginger.Even male for female.

Try it.

And settle into boredom, thay will not be abated by candies such as these. Made in the factory, not made by hand, not someting from an artisan. Just something that are easily lost and not missed.

They cannot be lost.

Don’t bother to find them.

 

 

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