Emily didn't wear jeans.  She walked down the block and she scraped her knee.  Her dress is blue or green.  The sun is out and yellow in the top like in a picture-book.  There's white circles on her blue dress, like polka dots.  Her dress is blue now.  There's blood on her knee.  She rushed off down the street.  She fell and scraped her knee.  There's no green with the polka dots.  The sun is beaming a tad smudge orange, but big beaming yellow, with little pieces of chalk and charcoal...There is now green on the street, the bushes surrounding her and lining the street.  The gravel is gray, the sidewalk.  When she fell she turned over her hands.  There's little pebbles and gravel, scrapes on her skin, some red some dirty.  The sidewalk is coming like a train on the first TV.  She lost her balance.

My brain feels broken tonight.  Like a loaf of molasses bread cut up in portions with a tiny spring coil inside.  Some of the sections are uneven or slightly out of place.

There's whipped butter on the side. Sex and eating.