after.thought

the jackal says you've chewed through the soul-thread like a rat's offending limbs in a glue trap —and cast it from you.

the jackal says it's red, but it's blue.  it says it's ok to hunt for sport. 

the lady at the gas station has too many teeth. her eyes are upside down sometimes. she is very nice. 

i drove by my Self as it walked too close to the road last night. there's a blind-dark curve right above the church, and i creaked open in my own headlights there: more gaunt than i recalled. 

i think i could fold my car into an origami swan for you, if i tried. if you wanted.

corrosive corruption of the blood turns to sludge, and bubbles up under the skin, and bulges in the carotid, and carves tunnels. 

the jackal says it's the end of the line.  i say that is not true — i just got here. 

the jackal says it cannot lie, for it is merely a jackal.