She looked at the forms and said money. A baby cried. (Dividends and interest and exclusions) She said money and typed furiously on a calculator. She said money and gold coins foamed from her mouth. She squinted at statements and her tongue unrolled from her head and licked MONEY onto the desk. (Taxable amount tax withheld tax due) She said money. She would not stop saying money. (Please check this box and leave line 9 blank) I said money back at her and watched her head deflate. I stood in the desk and yelled money as birds descended from the ceiling and squawked and chattered money money money money.
After I read Oedipus Rex I went looking for gold pins, and I found a shiny pair and stuck them in my eyes in order to experience empathy. The dull ends wobbled from the sockets, my personal quivering compass needles.
I followed where they pulled and found myself on the top of a mountain. I lay supine on the peak as if it were a fulcrum to the lever of my spine. I tottered in the wind. The rock rasped and squeaked. I spun thin air into gauze and hung a scrim near the sun; I sucked heat from the sky; the atmosphere swallowed sound when I called out for a shepherd to lead me home.