Epilogue-Columbia Park, David Carmack Lewis
2. She Is Coughing Up Debris:
She rides space using the most distinct thing known through her skull. Distinct and most gratifying. Distinct and full of knowledge about life. About the Six York and Six Key. The express zone. Distinct most gratifying distinction. Distinct most gratifying distinction. She glides. Her face tortuous. Glides into the unknown. You are foreign and barren and overbearing. With silence, she achieves nothing. Overbearing and random. She throws her ceiling over the ceiling. She rejoins her fingers back to the stairs. The steps climb into her thighs. They remain there like a death moth. Trees waving back and forth, annoyed. Death is speechless. Death is annoyed. I am going to lie down to sleep on your lap. Is this okay? The steps ask. The doors open their eyes. The jars close their eyelids. It is time for sugar and nuts. Sugar and nuts and more nuts. She is careless now since she has gotten up. Who has stolen her wallet? The doors do not see. The lids of jars are careless. Vigilantly being disobedient. She retires to the stairs. The steps are awake. I am sorry that I woke you, Declare the stairs. The noise is so careless and so clumsy. Can you smell, Stairs? I don’t blame you if you can’t. I don’t blame you if you lay down on her thighs. Do you not see? What do you see? The stairs have developed pneumonia. It will be the steps who will cough for the stairs. Get up, She tells the stairs. Don’t walk up and down the steps like others. I am going to lie down. The sun will come up soon. Excuse me, Say the Steps. After the stairs cough. Walking up and down with pneumonia. There is too much dust. Distinction. Pure speculation. Pure distinction. She throws the ceiling over the balcony. She throws the ceiling over the roof. She climbs up the roof. And dives down the stairs where she has pneumonia.