being a guest is always beings welcoming to eating the sawdust soup of newness and complimenting its spice. Never take off your tear goggles but take of your shoes please. Don't track inside your dirt but look through your refractive soul water. being a guest is trembling lipstick, a slapstick starvation. it's about two-fold capacity: capacity for disruption and being interrupting. can we build this house by stacking our tongues, can we lay our foundation with incomplete sentences, we just have to interrupt each other enough.  being a guest is sawdust soup drool, talking with my mouth full, eating before  things cool down, is trying to eat everything while it's too hot and having to spit it out. 

Thank you for opening up your home to me.