thefutureandthepast

I didn’t dream, I suppose. I wasn’t even here. Nothing happened at all. The world waited, it made new cells, my liver cleaned my blood. Muscles slept. It rained, hard, then nothing, then hard again, the sun swept over for a minute, and then rain like fog traveling at high speeds. Good strong portland winter. It’s good for the constitution, builds character and mold allergies. The mold is blossoming like tulips in the springtime. Earlier, walking the dog, I coughed a bit, wheezed, felt tired and hot behind my forehead. The mold has returned from christmas visiting its family, has returned to fling open the french doors of my lungs, let the dog out, throw its sweaters on the chairs. Inside my chest, the mold drinks a glass of water and checks its voicemail.

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