Anna insisted she never told a joke in her life. Fell
asleep when her heart went off too fast. How often she
was snow. How fanned her feathers. Anna swam
through strange channels, came through infrequently the
frequencies and static. Shotgunned her face together,
slipped through a rolodex of could-be-Anna lives. Head
always tilted off to the left, one eye wild in its socket.
Anna crippled into horror movies, indented the left side
of the bed.