had
a dream about you
last
night
pissed
me off
don't
remember
the
details
they
were smudged into
film
grain shadows
but
still
upon
awakening
I
was irate
ham
fisting
slumber
sand
from
my eyes
and
walking half undead
to
the coffee pot
making
a bleary mess
of
separating filters
and
measuring brown grounds
I
was mad as hell
and
not just at
my
sleep dumb hands
and
socked-in brain
and
not just anger
but
impending doom
making
a pit
not
a pit
a
vortex
of
my stomach
I
could hear the sucking sound
gut
lining eating itself
basted
in acid and bile
mmm
a
familiar morning feeling
but
I had that particular
sensation
set
of sensations
long
before
and
long after
you'd
come
and
the only way I could
shake
this rage
and
empty gravity
was
to make sure
I'd
come
quick
and efficient and hard
without
romance
not
even a trace of fantasy
because
fantasies are so
like
dreams
it's
always been
easier
to
make my water boil
than
to shed it
to
feel the arid stinging throat
to
note the brief searing surface tension
before
letting it fall briny and warm
much
cooler than two hundred twelve
ninety
eight six burns more
and
for all my fury
and
odd panic
and
confusion
I
wouldn't mind seeing you again
in
color or black and white
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