Thursday, January 6, 2011

A River of Stones, Day 3: Fever

Silence is cracked by the high hiss of steam, and the periodic click, click, click on the other side of this room, two small drums in my moist, salt-rubbed skull. Light pries in through crusty slits. There are black stars up high, swirling off before I can see them clearly.  They wait for sleep, when they’ll shatter into glass fever dreams; me, swinging from a chain like a pendulum, a broken story to tell, an incongruity. My heavy head is a hot river, my thoughts a molten well.

No comments:

Post a Comment