. And

I dream about drowning.
Not the choke to sputter darkness or the slow drift into light, But the kind of swim sparkle sun floating madness one gets from lulling in a hand-me-down seventies unheated water-bed.
I dream aboutliving in a place that always rains.
And the grey skies are all my sunshine days.
And now, under big comic blue skies and neverending grass fields and foreign tongues like spies- I long for landscape. And drizzle.
I long for the slow rocking madness of those moments in flight where I drifted and sucked water to breathe like oxygen.

I wanted to write something gently soft about the way life feels these days. But everything comes out always hard A's and concrete retaining walls. If ever I was lonely or alone things might be different. But this is a different kind of new. And everything that ever was like the way to spell the word color or the shape of my own face feels foreign. daunting. irresolvable. like public school maths. And the weight and consequence of my own tongue.


Dear Don Williams, stop singing Broken Hearts in your deep voice in my tiny head, cause then, first thing in the morning that I do...is start missing you! :(