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Snapshot of Insomnia

Dress your sheep in cotton, baby – dress your wolves in wool. If you think that you heard footsteps, someone’s probably at the door – just waiting for a welcome or some implicit permission – dress your wolves in sheepskin babe and put your sheep in linen.

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Monday Afternoons

I am so full of laughter it’s making me hurt as they fill out address bars and the sexy ones flirt with each other and nobody asks me to dance. 73 more words

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This Dream I Keep Having

It’s funny – when I die, there is nobody but a paid public servant, shovels dirt and then it’s done. So flat, you know? And it is snowy and he’s lonely but he won’t drop the pretense, which I respect, or I would if I, you know, were not dead – … 25 more words

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The Season Ends

It always was fictitious – every sweet and sour instant – some perfumes cloud my vision: I smoke too much and get antsy. And I keep finding my hands need just a little extra company – the gravity is jumping back and forth like camera shutters: I can’t see or feel my stomach. 78 more words

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