December 11, 2011 § Leave a comment

Heat wave, makes the old folks die. You drink hot tea in the fall, winter, spring. summer, too. But this summer, hot tea makes your stomach boil. The lungs dimple, or that is what we imagine.

Have you ever slept without a sheet on? it is hard for me to sleep without a quilt on my back. I sweat through my underwear and through the covers and through the mattress and they have run out of something dry for us to wear in our sleep. The clotheslines are full on the verandah. We hang like a string of flags, undignified, stained without a wind.

Fevers are ritual dreams. A reunion between the mind and forty one degrees celsius. A reunion between death and the sun.


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