I have to go to that house full of china cabinets, the smell of nothing familiar, and pictures of perfect children of god because we failed them, we are different, we do not sing in church, our parents committed a sin, the drugs and alcohol and rock and roll tainted us, and we might stain the carpet, and I think they have a camera, it’s in the psycho poodle’s eyes, seeping from its surly, spiked teeth, I’ll feed you to the turkey vultures, I wouldn’t want to die when there are turkey vultures in that tree, they are dumb for having a chicken heart poodle as a guard dog because the vultures would pick the eyes out first, and then the brain, and then they would crawl all over the carcass until the bones are so brittle they can eat them too, so they shouldn’t find out that there is a pipe in their house, they would definitely have to paint the walls, the color of rust, I don’t know why, it is an awful color, blood red is more fitting, or green because it is God’s favorite, but he has to watch the dogs, that’s why he did not eat with them, and we didn’t either because we didn’t know, we never know, the black sheep bred more black sheep, and we will never be seen with the clean sheep, you should bleach that dog, ragtime has never been played on that piano before, fingers that have touched sin should not touch the white keys, make sure you wash it, or get a new piano while I pet the dog, and while they marry mistakes, the poor kid is trapped, and that’s what happens when you twist a string so tight and let go, and that’s what happens when you get caught breaking rules, you have to follow the next one in line, abolish that rule I think, but he can’t think anything because he is trapped in the claws of expectations and religion, they crushed his mind long ago, they removed his brain before birth and fed it to the dogs, that’s what they do with all the white wool, but the sound of laughter surrounds his condition because we are not possessed, but we still don’t belong here, we never will because they will live until they are 150, they will walk with a cane in one hand and anesthetics in the other so we can never be welcome because we are real, and they are not real, nothing is real in this house, the poodle is an invalid, I could probably stab it and it would make a horrid popping sound and deflate, I should try, but then the turkey vultures could not have their feast, you are like a doll, except not beautiful, but all nervous and proper and plastic, you should certainly send your voice back to the manufacturers, it’s annoying and high, so is the poodle, we always end up running into her and she shrinks in embarrassment because you shouldn’t run into your grandchildren, and her lips fuse together unless they are mouthing the names of other robots, the object of all pride and affection, and he looks sad because she is the wicked witch but he is the cowardly lion, she has him on a leash around his neck, I can see it digging into his flesh but she only pulls tighter, after the leash chokes him his head is going to topple over, but he should be glad when he is decapitated because his brain will be able to roam free, unless she puts it in Tupperware or feeds it to the dogs, she would have to put something else on that leash, but he was never good enough to be on her leash, that is why she sent him away to a frigid farm when he didn’t know any better, she gave up and he gave up, that is why he is so fat and red and selfish, that is why we are so mad, and that is why we might stain the carpet, the poodle is still watching us, but you would die if you knew of that real people were in your home, you belong in Quilter’s Corner with a serial number, I would not want to die with turkey vultures in that tree, I do not want my brain to be picked out, or my eyes, but it is okay because you will only go to hell if you believe in it.

*Originally written in 2009