Published in Fictive Dream in 2020, an experiment in first person grumbling. _________________ I promised I’d get the butter. I promised you I would never climb the mountain again and so I wrapped my face and my whole head in a white shroud. I said I would never cross the bridge anymore and bound my legs to the posts. I don’t know what became of all the old statues because I can’t see that far. But in my fever bed, between wet sheets, my eyes come back to life no matter how hard I try to ignore the impulse and stay in the dark. This morning the walls hide the tree outside. Only its spiny branches are seen in windows on either side of the corner. One of several possibilities, all of which I have explored by now.
Groceries
Groceries
Groceries
Published in Fictive Dream in 2020, an experiment in first person grumbling. _________________ I promised I’d get the butter. I promised you I would never climb the mountain again and so I wrapped my face and my whole head in a white shroud. I said I would never cross the bridge anymore and bound my legs to the posts. I don’t know what became of all the old statues because I can’t see that far. But in my fever bed, between wet sheets, my eyes come back to life no matter how hard I try to ignore the impulse and stay in the dark. This morning the walls hide the tree outside. Only its spiny branches are seen in windows on either side of the corner. One of several possibilities, all of which I have explored by now.