my regards to the fiction of the moment, you are the sweetest being i ever knew, a tall blonde colour’d shadow, biographer of all the moments i wasn’t paying attention to my own mind. Not Possible. how could i possibly hope to disregard my own mind? i’m sorry you get all the credit and no one understands your poems, but thanks to you i now have more time to consider the artwork of the clouds. J.M. Prelude to a Perfectly Ordinary Dream lying in bed this morning light start wakes the window all present so it might hold the sight of the blood to see it pulse her neck is to see how the skin jumps absolutely alive in the memory these dreams every morning we stopped at the same restaurant for breakfast the same restaurant somewhere in the midwest until we knew we weren’t going anywhere driving a day at a time and arriving at the same place we left though the restaurant became a little more chaotic each morning not so it was uncomfortable, but so we could take the time to notice waitresses smashing into each other, flocks of dishes flying, one morning the cash register fell over and exploded random swizzle sticks from the bar shot randomly through the necks of people as they attempted to bite their raw bacon sandwiches we always ordered the same thing, ham and eggs, it was terrible, boring placenta and rubber tar, as though we were desperately hoping each day would move to a perfected level of chaos and since the world around us seemed destined to remain exactly the same but fall to pieces and us in the middle it was ridiculous, the calm bite on a fork that could not bother to complain about infinite possibilities but about food instead every day we left a smaller tip not because the service was bad we were growing more and more concerned about the monetary value of things where we were heading back in this light there comes a sigh a bodily shift to the blood a little faster Perfectly Ordinary Dream #o (March 19,1992) I met my wife in a photograph my father showed me.
