they fed me clocks through a paper straw,

said “choke sweetly,” in a dialect shaped like fog.

i applauded backwards.

the stage was wet with names i never wore.

loop:

a violin made of eyelids

screaming Bach into a jar of static.

salt in my shoes,

laughter growing from the ceiling like fungus.

i reached for the rope,

it turned into a question mark.

they handed me a prize:

it blinked.

once.

twice.

never again.

the award ceremony was held

in the mouth of a drowned god

who only spoke in riddles of mildew

and alphabet soup.