ghost_notes raze this mobile home has four front teeth. she opens the last door on the right when i belt it with the back_of_my_hand. whatever accent she's wearing sloughs off as she speaks. slowly to begin with. then all at once. she tells me it took years to build her house on wheels. i see a bed behind her. the mattress lidded with a dark duvet. her husband is haunted by the sacrifices of strangers. when his head hits the pillow, he imagines a sine wave flattened by a syntonic comma and waits for other notes to rise up out of the night like locusts, like light, like the thin fingers of a hand too keen to cup his own. 260419 what's it to you? who go blather from