fred

I'm sitting at the foot of the bed, dripping sweat.
How would the day would go if I were to wear an orange leather jumpsuit?
This question has kept me up all night...
The struggle that is life.

My desert tent has a luxurious shag carpet.
I shake out the toenail clippings whenever the nomads come by for a visit.
We drink club soda and make clay figurines.

In our conversations I avoid the topic of the digestive process.
I have been worrying about my pancreas lately.
It is best to stick to tent maintenance and nomad things like that.

Every day is drifting.
To where or to what end is not known.
It takes time to step back.

I like to watch the clutching scrambling, to observe the frantic trembling.
It's floating. The pattern is tenuous strands.
I'm watching the floating context clouds.
I'm making clay figurines.

I will try to unwind.
It might only take five minutes.
No one knows.

The vibrating pancreas -- biological seat of consciousness
At the bottom of a pool -- the director of last night's dream