of the winter garden they would know nothing

Sunday, February 03, 2008

Short for Abbreviation

Not that she could remember what it was that her body had been doing while she slept. It's just that it would be nice if she could, you know, remember if her arm had flailed around like a fish as she ran from the ravenous coke machine in the school cafeteria. Had she tried to cover her self during the naked in public places dreams? Had she kicked her legs desperately trying to catch that bus already too late for class though the quicksand mile of a strangely familiar unfamiliar door to the edge of the street and the very slowly departing bus? Had she gasped for breath in the face of the perusing shark? Had anything moved? Or had she just laid there, while inside everything flickered, and jumped, ran and screamed? Had she been still? Did that mean anything? About her? About the bed? About anything else or anyone?

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