Flying upside down feels real as rugs. I learned loom tricks and bagged lozenges in longish rooms. Hand-hooked sheepskin like a show-off rippling sand on the floor. They call that carpet. We wove with jute and jaggy mohair draped on tables so they’d never touch the ground. I programmed petals and took trifles after hours. Rug race I call red team. I found us apples flat hot Coke with ginger Chinese wives’ hack won’t get sick this year. You think we caught the textiles and techno they left us this California rustle. We still liked it a lot and kept asking for more mohair don’t go we’re wrestling now. Machines stand up they’re mean they tell us to eat all the while weaving rugs. You kissed my head and wet socks in the stylus lines big bleary you said tremendous effort trembled our skins off. It fed us when we went all in phase like a Chinese dragon dance sometimes we didn’t go to bed. I put my hands in for research. I put my tongue in for health and harmony brings wealth to the business. Then we all got sick looked around for lozenges bagged up wool and wires hired replacements jaywalked home. We didn’t miss the rooms full of rugs. I may have missed the tender seam. A housewife hack of the 17th-century. Find a longish room clean sand pour it to the floor and swirl with a broom to add accent, apples for a rug as real as rules.