lips

Ascend the stairs of your open-drawered dresser and clamber up towards the sky. Wish on a star, or an airplane will do if you are the first one to see it. Step higher. Fold your breath up in little pieces and save it for looking down, back to the red-purple carpet swirls and the slippered feet you can barely stretchingly squintingly see a million inches below you on the floor.

Exhale, and sit back down. Nestle your chin into the middle of the "M" formed by your kneecaps. Shake your eyes open. Bound away, and out towards the day. Skip down the sidewalk until you stub your toes too many times in a row, then slow and slouch and drag your feet behind your tired ankles. This is how they do it, those cool cats in the hip cafes, they shrug and snarl and scuff up the soles of their shoes. Roll your eyes and pout your mouth out, for better effect. "Hey, Lips," says the grinning old black dude in the distinguished suit. "Hey, Lips, crack a smile for me!"