the bloody brickle of my hand has mostly fallen away to pink new skin, like wriggling little marsupial pup. which speaking of, yesterday i kicked a mouse to death, warned of its approach by maggie. that'll teach you to try to climb up my pants leg! otherwise, just kind of floating in dark water, lit only occasionally by wil-o-wisps. disassociated except for the tether of jenny, the comforting prick of a thorn. the slow drain of blood, subtle displacement of water as sharks approach from the deep. teeth along flesh like a comb through hair. sleepy, needing laundry done, unhooked. i'm turning 65,000,000 ± 28 years old on sunday; i guess saturday we'll all gather at a watering hole, cry our crocodile tears. bar reis in the slope? unless i come up with anything better. more dreams about music boxes. wax cylinders. old ways of recording just who we are. like with dracula's killers. i also dream of pigs rooting for truffles, coming up with mouthfuls of bones, chewing.