it is not my house, and i just woke from a sweaty afternoon nap asking if my self is even really myself. strange intra-ballet slumbers in a home not my own. suffering from low blood sugar and the shadows of outlines of dreams; i hear Ginsberg, i eat cookies,
i impose (and then nurse) dolors de mi estómago.
and wait for los sueños to return.
Friday, November 14, 2008
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