the ole supernatural factory's bicycle
Ripe craving for a ripe red tomato just hit me. Out of nowhere I could taste it but only long enough to stir desire without closure.
This morning was clunkered cars causing traffic to back up for miles, in the midst of which was me and other people like me with the same headache. Just past the accident was rain so heavy only the car in front of me was visible. Yet they were still superheroes who thought they didn't need headlights.
Supposedly exploding head syndrome is a disorder of the sleep. I have no time to research right now, but I'd like to propose a disorder of the wake to take on the name, because the day has brought it on.
Friday I head to Illinois to attend a retirement party for my college Greek professor, who was also my mentor and friend and who encouraged me to be a janitor after graduate school because it would fill me with experience and details to spit out in poems. My parents have agreed to attend the party with me. Essentially I'm introducing them to a deity in my personal mythology, so I'm pretty excited.
O and the days off from work.
Each time I have plans to visit my family, things of the exploding-head sort pop up in the few days beforehand, making the pre-trip days an ordeal and hardly zen-lipped, which is a sort of comical thing worthy of a tomato in the face.
There. Full red circle. Now I can drive home and launder what needs to be laundered.
This morning was clunkered cars causing traffic to back up for miles, in the midst of which was me and other people like me with the same headache. Just past the accident was rain so heavy only the car in front of me was visible. Yet they were still superheroes who thought they didn't need headlights.
Supposedly exploding head syndrome is a disorder of the sleep. I have no time to research right now, but I'd like to propose a disorder of the wake to take on the name, because the day has brought it on.
Friday I head to Illinois to attend a retirement party for my college Greek professor, who was also my mentor and friend and who encouraged me to be a janitor after graduate school because it would fill me with experience and details to spit out in poems. My parents have agreed to attend the party with me. Essentially I'm introducing them to a deity in my personal mythology, so I'm pretty excited.
O and the days off from work.
Each time I have plans to visit my family, things of the exploding-head sort pop up in the few days beforehand, making the pre-trip days an ordeal and hardly zen-lipped, which is a sort of comical thing worthy of a tomato in the face.
There. Full red circle. Now I can drive home and launder what needs to be laundered.
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