Dream Sequence 37: Intermittent AnesthesiaJason Fraley
I will not mention appendectomy. That isn't your body split open on the kitchen table. If you open the patio door and listen – those aren't bullfrogs. I am not the cluster of nerves you call the moon. I cannot store you in the closet as an unopened box of hardwood. I cannot describe regeneration or reorder atoms. My heart is buzzing – no, that's the doctor. Apparently, I shouldn't mention burst either. Even in this day and age, there's a distance called too far. I draw a line the length of your driveway plus the spiral staircase. If I press hard enough, the marker dries up just below your waist.
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