And now the son had squeezed out all the toothpaste screaming.
And now a blurt had opened in the floor.
And now the room contained one billion windows.
And now the son felt sore.
And now the son felt his backbone shift slightly, pinching taut the skin around his cheeks and lids.
And now the son moved to turn around inside the room and found he was too large to turn around inside the walls.
And now the son felt his flesh compressed on all sides by something growing in and off the house.
And now the son could not stop coughing, and the tremor, and the ants.
And now the son was off the floor by inches and now the son’s head compacted with his neck and his neck compacted with his ribcage and his ribcage puttered cream and the son felt his voice inside him slushed to zero and he felt his teeth grinding in his eyes and the son felt his bones becoming blubber and he felt the liquid in him brim.
And now the son spun around in one continuous direction, though from outside him he looked still.
And now the son’s flesh could not contain his girth.
And now the son was more than tired and the son coughed up an enormous log of chalk and the son coughed up a pane of glass, a set of keys, and a door without a knob, and now the son’s mouth sprayed out graffiti, the son gushed gold and gray and green, the son gushed glue and blue, and now the son coughed up a TV and now the TV screen was glowing and in the glow there someone stood and the house was shaking and made of money, and now the son coughed up a massive book, and the book began to read itself aloud into him, full of his words, and now the son would sing, and now the son coughed up a vein of hair he’d worn in styles of other years and the hair was drenched with grease he’d eaten and sugar he’d drunk and the hair wrapped around his head in coils, and now the son coughed up the sand of all the beaches and the heat of the son warped the sand down into glass, and through the glass the son saw other houses, and now the son coughed up wet and wax and coffee, and now the son coughed up more money by the sheet, and now the son coughed a length of pipe, a bulb of moss, a flock of birds, a box inside a box, a travel guide with all blank pages, and now the son coughed up his sleep and now the son coughed up reams of endless skin still growing older and the son coughed up the son.