take up his time
by staying on the line. He’s
heard it all before by many, many
more. And what can he say but “yah, it

***** that the world has turned
this way.” So, she downs a cup of *****
every night. And for a few hours
forgets about this plight. But when she wakes

at 1 am sweating from another
nightmare, with her hair scattered on
the pillow like limp spaghetti and her
nightshirt spilling out her *******

like globs of Jell-O she knows
that the waking up is not
going to make the nightmare go. That
life as she knows it is worse

than any dream she could have
about her past. She keeps these dreams
from him like a child keeps the sinful
touch of a hairy hand that reaches into

infertile gardens. Death is the only
pardon. The burning in her chest, the
carelessness of wandering in the forbidden
zone. Swallowing shards that cut her innards

is to fight the discord. She’s been in that
situation with him before. And it’s ruined
everything. She’s had to fight very hard to get
it back. She doesn’t want to upset that.