Find a diner kind, find one that makes a difference because of the way the seats feel, the way they squish down like a frog on a mushroom. Find a place where you have to say yonder to talk about distances between things and where you can yell uncontrollably and no one will think you're crazy. It's a place that we keep dreaming about, on the tip of our tongues it rests, like a mint that won't ever dissolve. Sure, it keeps your breath clean, but you can only take so much of one taste until that taste tastes like nothing at all. You will say, why doesn't water ever do this to me and I will say because water is in us and minty taste is from somewhere else. 

I know there are rockets and missiles that exist, that there are probably millions that have been fired by now, but I've still yet to see one. They are my loch ness. The thought doesn't seem to count with our friends, nor feeling, but action towards an inevitable mechanical device that was created using a shit load of math, math I never learned in ninth or tenth or eleventh or twelfth grade. You can see them, I have heard the best way is to go along with them and write to everyone back home about how they work. The missiles should feel so lucky to be remembered and then forgotten until they are remembered again. The graph goes up and down but I doubt the graph they made the missile with is anything like the graph of their rise and fall. 

There isn't really a problem in the death business. I don't know if there ever really has been or will be, if anyone cares or if we have accepted that in our DNA, since fighting goes all the way through our cells. Just remembered, I have forgotten what those four letters say. I would imagine with the miles and miles of DNA that live inside all of us, somewhere in the randomness had to have one of the miles say something like, "It exists and does not want a peep out of you".

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