I keep having dreams. Discontinuous and fragmented. Nothing contingent to hinge a meaning on. I approach my bed each night with a languid hesitation. I stare at the ceiling and long for it to collapse and crush my evasive conclusions about the day. There is an unmistakable but unrealized dissonance hiding in the vaulted shadows of this winter.
Found in my old fiction journal
Damn… ›
One Comment
Well written….really like it!
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