Thousand: Nine Hundred Thirty-Five

not if I have all time to hide in. You can’t hurt me. That’s not me. That is your own face, angel. Play with it as you wish. The angel yanks the face from the wall by the bit of skin caught in the pinch, gives the face two brisk shakes, then reaffixes it to the blank head on the floor. The eyes blink. The angel picks up the head and raises it to the lips of its other heads, its other faces, each sharing a kiss with the head and its freshly recovered lips. “Was that a test?” I