I. Baby doll bottle of fake milk.
It gurgles into some far-off mouth when you tip it. It rushes back when you blink. Like nurturing but nothing is gained, nothing is lost, a far off mouth is crying to be stuck back to a far off face. Everyone sees the milk walls and has to move on with their day so they call the mouth crazy. The far-off mouth takes matters into its own teeth but it uses the kind of milk that grows hairless skin in the refrigerator. The bottle is stuck within a couple of days and the problem restarts.
II. The earth dried up like a blistered hand.
There is no water, only the oily suggestion of it. The suggestion slips through the cracks, picking up red and making a soup of chalkboard dust and fingernails. I never know whether it is better to drink it slowly or wait until I can’t stand it anymore and press my tongue against the hot earth, taking everything in one huge, gauze-tongued moment. This is a trick question because once I drink, it will always be huge and final. It’s my unfortunate design. The catch is that once I do, this is all over. I cannot feed without killing.
I. This is insatiability no matter which way I spin the empty bottle.
II. The problem with thirst is that it exists for a reason.
III. The problem is quantity, which the body doesn’t understand until it is too late, warm tide of flat soda rushing back into the metal bucket. A thick, killing rain.
IV. I fall asleep with a mouthful of water.
V. I wake up, cracking.