| Pittsburgh motel telephone as I went out one morning to breathe the air around Pompeii the drifter beside me awoke, and claimed he had had dreams unlike any conceivable depiction of our motel room; he had never fully returned, I concluded, as I sat inches from salvation stunned into silence the allure of the bedside stand proved too inviting; by first light I was clawing my way home across the power lines, bowing low like hemlocks to gravity, wanting only for more reassurance that perhaps I had not done the right thing. (c) 2002 troubled phantom publishing onward backward |
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