the trust computer says stay at home with your shawl and needlepoint the future you think you deserve into the face of the showerstall. it may take some serious work on the forearms to be able to pierce the tile there, but take your time.
the trust computer has keys that cannot be mistaken for other letters. it knows already what you wish to say and clarifies your thoughts as they spill out like bees from a bag of honey. a bag of honesty, it sorts your stories for you. never will the lie you told to person b become the truth you swallow after a night with person x. it’s there for you in ways no set of liner notes could ever hope to be.
the trust computer doesn’t need a screen. it cannot be shorn. it faces everything with glee and capsizes when the drinks are done, the tiny umbrellas taken from your mind and lining the sand where you house your dreams. there is no outside left, all of the thoughts you could have divorced have come running back to you with their nooses cut. you swim, swim out into the crisp horizon. a sun for a hat. always the distance just right–far enough out to not touch bottom. the line dimming and straight.