metal shop, glowing lockers, wood and steel. trace the tracks.

i sleep on the sidewalk of thompson square, though i know what has happened here, i am not scared. it is a different time.

you are the sugar and i am the spoon. you mumble in your sleep, i clog your inbox with exhalations of the fall. i am the sugar and you are the spoon. you mumble in your sleep. "I could get ice cream and wouldn't even have to have ice cream because i would be there with you" you said. "lauren?" i asked. "yes" and the sugar falls from the spoon.

a cross in a gallery glows. an aura pulses at the word hope. the artists name it the second coming cross. the cynics say nothing.

you said i was in your nightmare with saint maria and the church. i am really very sorry, because i know how this can be...and i know what it may seem. and i hope at least i helped you.

sol said she threw away 21 gallons of latex paint over mold discontentment.


i wake up dry heaving.