i had a dream that i contained a thin pail of morbid fluid,
some of my throat came off into my hands and i stitched it up with twine
three little glass bottles sat behind a starched old windowpane,
my limp finger held by the crook of a wet rose stem
we were all a little damp
it was one of those grungy anterooms with pale splotched rugs and little baby chairs
sat down in an old green chair and read an antique novel
tin can crushed against a tree
squeaky metal belt buckles
silent wheels in long tunnels
unfamiliar spigot
done
