ISSN: 1941-4137 |
Volume Four Issue One |
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I Keep Having This Dream where I find a dead body: Pale skin turned earthworms grass blade thin legs heaved into long weeds by a roadside Your single finger steering, my elbow out the window, as we pass. I ask you if you saw it, say, Back up, surprised at my calm; you pivot the wheel. The rest is surreal: hands over mouths, oh my god, we say, we fumble for something to say into cell phones, then to each other, as the sirens grow louder It's here where I wake, each time, to find you on the driver's side of the bed: never bother to wake you to say what I've seen. It's nothing you won't know soon enough without me telling you: Just us headed somewhere, together, then stopping, as anyone would. |