Makes me want to do it now

Things that keep you going are yellow effigies, bone dragons, and the smell of a book on your saucer in the morning. Nor should you be called the casual sniffer, for you’ve got system, you put it to your nose at regular intervals, will note changes in your journal, will mark the calendar the day it blooms into allergies. “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes” reveals how a certain crust of the Filipino fashioned itself from young cheese, foreign tutelage squeaking in the background, and although “goggles” as a word would’ve ruined it, remember, we’re seeded on this earth to ensure the survival of people, people yet struggling to see, truly and clearly, despite this palpitating wall of many sleeves stitched together, the flesh of the cliquish, our kin merely going through the motions of peeking. Not that Mandaluyong’s less lonely, just every other street abuzz with a 24/7 mechanism. The malls permit little brown wings as handily as do the churches, so really—not as any device, not playing with you—I watched five sparrows hopping about on the floor between the legs of the seats of a cafe near the popcorn outlet of the cinema, a holy mass running where once I saw cats preening against cats. Does that volume carry amphibians? In the surer glasses await the expert slices of lemon. “The cosmetic solution to chipped or misaligned teeth.” “Reduce inches off your flabby areas.” A fork tapping the rib cage after nine minutes in the antique shop: who wants me back, gets me back.