Who among us will peel back their skin to reveal a web of reedy veins? Who suggests higher consciousness through the placement of sea urchins and other mechanical details? Who can lead us to that ubiquitous shade of Deschanel fatigue?

Disease has five layers, each with five eyes, studying five folded pieces of paper with five different words all of which sound roughly the same. Antipathy. Antipodes. Antipasto. Antigen. Ancillary. One of them says, “Conjunctivitis is not my friend.” What this all means does not necessarily include what this all means.

Showy neural crests invite mass deportation. Our roofs chant when it rains.