Hallucinating in a field after being bitten by a snake, you make a sober pact with your other side:
For every cabinet door we slam shut with our heads, we will open three more with our feet
& we’ll telepathically high five, or nod to, everyone we pass by from now on.
Running is on the table and hiding is on the table and fighting is on the table and flying is on the table and fucking on the table and freezing is
A firm handshake, consecrated by the sun. Friendship bracelets rattling.