sssskkkate. the wheels can’t always be on the wood.
i can see into them like memories of the Greek part of Paris, made, like the rest of the city, for the night. crackling meats on spits, and the incessant pouring of the drink. Opaa, they cheer when something breaks. The halls or rows or bins of a marketplace, and the ways to and behind them, narrow and sometimes with goats.
at a truck stop 2 days ago I saw an L Ron Hubbard paperback and was pained to be counting seconds inside the building on a quick restroom break without camera or cash, dogs waiting unattended in the shaded, air conditioned van max 90 seconds I allot myself to run away from the vehicle, 90 seconds I have to pee before someone opens the driver door and takes off with my waiting life. I didn’t go back for it. L Ron not worth it, I saw the storefront Dianetics Church on Lincoln Ave turned into a Tuesday Morning housewares outlet.
a see-through, obviously dreamt figure arrived bearing information that I heard even though no one was speaking,
there will be a place you can see your fingers comb right through, like a mirrored elevator at a fancy hotel, all the way down, never quite able to see the self.
i told it to myself implausibly like a bloody dare.