Til One Flew The Coop
The cavern opens and I see the man from yesterday. I see the man from the day before. These men, they’ve touched me before and I expect them to touch me again. I recognize them by their eyes, for their mouths are covered by a material I desire to feel, to taste. I want to rest myself on that color.
The faces, their curious eyes, are much more different when I am aware that I am the focal point of their expedition into my host. I see a man whose skin is textured like the one who lives near my host, wrinkled with age, who hides his eyes behind glass rectangles. I see another man with the visible discoloration on under his eye. A shape. A shape I know there is a name for I have heard it in my host’s thoughts. I know him. I know them. I’ve met them before.
“Ihn-dee-ah-
