my mind has this way of racing. racing right back into time. and the halls and the walls are cluttered with yous and mes. i dream a dream now that is restless, that is all twisted blankets and the night. i have a warm face and it's close to your cold one, too cold. too close. you have a grave face and it's a watery one. too close and too cool. my face it's a hot one, a warm one. still so warm. the extemes of temepture prevail.
yesterday my grandmother called to say she is stopping giving things away. she kept calling me last year saying "i'm boxing up the tea set you gave me and sending it back, along with the collage your mother made me when she and your dad were first married" and she'd call my brother and say " i am shipping you a box of old year books and text books and your fathers old comics".
she assures me she is going to stop doing this. it is because she explains " since your grandfather died i have been dying everyday, and i'm going to do that anymore."