to dream, you need new york

lincoln,nebraska -i can skateboard enough to get by. three great men go to yoga. i can't tell them in which direction it is. well maybe i know the building. i take one to the barracks. we get back, only to intrude on a painting class. 'it's okay,' i say,'i am a painter!'

a play with all my people in it.
they were all each others' people. i had no place there.

so i left. my shoes, my purse, my crossword puzzle were back at the stands. i walk home in my socks.

grandma wanted to go back to the nursing home. she tried to drive herself with my car

outside my door i heard her say "maybe you're a genius, maybe your something else. or maybe you are one of those procrastinators. remember volume, remember light! " (said in a less accusative, more monologue sort of tone). i knew she was there. i didn't have to respond. i was napping.



worst case scenario: i ride my bike - you show me the way home. i'm being followed by a man. i tell you to slow down. i'm being followed by a man. i tell you, you don't understand. you think i'm signaling keep going. this man is following me and you notice to late. you see, you slow down. it is too late. you try to punch him. you knock him off his bike. he lands in the road. he will get hit by a car. we can't just leave him there i say. but we can you say. we keep going. the man in the road yells - i am him!. you realize it was a misunderstanding. you can't take it back. a car runs him over and you can't take it back.

he is still alive, but this is post-scenario talk. he drags himself to the side of the road but where to go now-- he is a twisted shape in a marching band - crooked and mangled amongst hundreds of identically dressed and poised men.