blackbirdonline journalFall 2017  Vol. 16 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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While Falling to Sleep

Man in a chair, balding, fat, whereas I’m buff, ripped, with long black hair. Who is he? Girl at
the mall in a black hoodie. On her, it looked like a cowl: some kind of ancient priestess crone,
her hands pressed together at her waist as if in prayer. Where are the cats? I used to have two
cats a long time ago in a small house with you. Where are you, for that matter? This is our old
wide bed and I float around in it alone. The guy in the chair is getting to me. I’m young and
handsome but this guy’s face, the guy in the chair, his face is scarred with creases and crusty
skin and rolls of fat along his neck. He’s disgusting. The girl in the hoodie walks toward me, I
kneel at her feet. Really, who is the guy in the chair and what is he doing in my bedroom with
the lovely painting of a sunset above my head?

It’s cold outside. Frost blazes on moonlit fields.  

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