magenta ovenbird Not fluoride, but a small tablet, a cochineal body crushed between the teeth until every white surface was dyed the colour of a maraschino cherry. Then: we took up valiant bristles attached to a facsimile of a blue crayon and dared to brush away the stains. Later, all us gift horses lined up to be inspected, mouths open, while the gleeful attendant pointed out all the places we missed, all the places where our very own skeletons would succumb to decay. I already know I’m moth-eaten and fraying. I no longer need to douse myself in magenta malaise to understand the extent of my impermanence. 260731 what's it to you? who go blather from