Mushroom Friday Friday a tropic-haired boy pieced silvered chunks
of mushrooms in my mouth and I sagged against his
chest and watched as his forehead turned clear and
bulged like a drugstore alien’s and I could see
pictures painted all along the inside of his skull and
wondered how they had got there and if I could
tatoo a picture of my face, but prettier and
green, inside his chin where it tucked against
my neck. I ran my hands over his thready
jacket to see if the texture would be different on
each of my fingertips and grew afraid
of turning into one of those drug-softened girls,
that run around campments hugging everyone. “You’re
not hugging everyone, you’re hugging me.”  ¶ 6:51 PM