I've been having bad dreams. They go like this:

     I lay down -- it's hot, and I usually don't bother with the sheet. My bed is a mattress on the floor in the corner on which lie a rumpled pillow and a pink sheet and a few garments, and my shoulders are tight for having spent the day being lied to, for, about, over, under and around; I throw myself down on this slab of a daily grave, cracking the seal and pouring the lie-vacuum down my throat, which inverts and gushes out all of my sadness in wet sobs for a long time until, my face contorted and my forehead aching, i fall back out of the delirium onto white, hard grief that grinds my bones with electricity until i lose consciousness.


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