sleep.

wake

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Some mornings you wake with a dream on your tongue. The memory of it thick, see?

but just beyond remembering.

He wakes with lightning on his tongue, forked and bright. All day. All day, the salt and mercury of it linger in his mouth. Something’s coming.

Or

perhaps

something’s here.

wake

Monday, March 17, 2014

Erich

He is sleeping. He is sleeping in a room. He is sleeping in a nascent, idealized memory-of-a-room, an idea-of-things. Clapboard, windowglazing. Sun washing through trim lace curtains. The threadbare quilt beneath his –

Erich wakes. He wakes, in his own bed. He wakes in his own home. He wakes.

eleusis

Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Erich

He is sleeping. He is sleeping in a room. He is sleeping in a nascent, idealized memory-of-a-room, an idea-of-things. Clapboard, windowglazing. Sun washing through trim lace curtains. The threadbare quilt beneath his fingertips, tangled in the curve of a fist. Morning always comes like this, a gullet full of light. His face slack against the pillow. Never any case, just the ticking that has the peculiar and intermediate taste of dust suspended in sunlight.

The fire’s died down. There’s a chill in the air. His first and second and third instincts are to burrow back into the cocoon of warmth trapped between mattress and quilt, but like clockwork -

He rolls over in his own bed.

He finds himself listening for a familiar voice that he has never heard before all day long.