The rock only has a mouth and eyes in the desert. Crush up shards of glass for the rock’s drink;
bite down until the rock turns to liquid sapphires, blue as royal sea slums, blue as diving sticks.
The enamel chips and gums are left gnawing. Feel something other than the violet noise and
wash your gum holes with gasoline; swish it, and geology will dissolve like minerals, sand-sifted
through eyelashes. There’s an acrylic pond in the center of this, with a Lego palm. The stone
cries: “My eyes are plastic.” The desert cries: “My eyes are plastic too.”