The doctors told me I should keep a journal. I'd dig to hades if it would shut them up.

It's Thursday today, the weather was nice. A pretty girl named Jennifer visited me. She said she was my daughter. I hope she is. She had a good head on her shoulders. I told her she should get married. She said she would but she was a lesbian. I don't know what that is but it sounds nice.

The cafeteria was having chicken soup for dinner. It was horrid stuff, nothing like what Anna used to make; it needed more salt. Which reminds me, the doctors pretend to be nice but they still won't let me see my wife. I lost my temper today and started yelling at one of the nurses. How dare they not let me see my wife. And that young idiot had the gall to lie to my face. Told me that she was dead. What a load of horse shit. I saw her the other day, picture of health. I'll have to speak to someone about getting out of here. Can't remember why I went in in the first place. There isn't anything wrong with me. I have to stop writing now. They're about to tell me its bedtime. I can hear their footsteps. Absolutely ridiculous, telling a grown man like me that it's bedtime. Most of them are young enough to be my kids for god's sake!

It's Friday today, the weather was nice. A pretty girl named Jennifer visited me. She said she was my daughter. I hope she is; she had a good head on her shoulders. She seemed strangely familiar.

.

I've lost my memory, but I have ink
so.
I will attempt to substitute text for texture,
crude sentences for warm embraces, and
an elaborate fiction in place of
faithful reproduction.

I am sure to leave things out
as my imagination takes
liberties.

What I say will not be what happened
my version of the events will be
ever and always
what I have written,

not what I remember; not what you remember.

If the sun and the moon were
weed and wine, she'd staggered inside
a lovely eclipse.

The mouths in her eyes dropped like birds
out of flight as the sky blushed.
The air grew warm.

They want to eat her like a meal.
Her body is a diamond that they covet
like sleep. Killer black and soft lilac
(the most expensive thing she ever stole)
but golden.

In the car, two long fingers dig graves
in the back of her left knee.
She is clammy and excitable,
sleepy and sure.

Cotton, lipstick,
curls, languid,
tobacco, innuendo. Coiled
like a kitten on the cushions,
eyelashes granite and breath like marble;
out like an epiphany.

Awaken standing, the world turned upright.
Hazy, two strong arms to steady,
Let's get you to bed, darling.

Somewhere there is tension, palpable,
scratchy. She senses a glare.
It doesn't catch, however.
Slides off; soaking into the carpet,
hissing with steam.

Some time later,
skins are shed

They build fires with their hips,
and don't speak of it in the morning.

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