print previewback VANESSA COUTO JOHNSON
o(vers)ight
My bottled water’s top falls out of my periphery. So the mouth remains uncovered.
During the play, you say the twins look nothing alike. Let us pretend that is a trick statement. One woman is playing both parts. Her expression the primary costume change.
Downtown with links of one-way streets. Turn right or wrong. The play also insists there can be birthmarks on the tongue.
You say babies look at you like you are insane. A baby in line for a burrito with pinpoint blue eyes. Precision is not the sane or same. As accuracy.
A virgin piña colada sweats on the table. I try to not be mushy. Can’t change my striped shirt. I reveal I have a blender in storage.
I do not push buttons but un-. The moon is behind so many things. A dry, free champagne. The night with dichotomies. A glow or a shadow. Two cars switching into the same lane. 
c(on)ta(in)er
o(vers)ight