• Clean cloths piled high and warm on top of me in snuggled in the laundry room cot. Criminal business activities in the living room are troubling.
  • Kneeling beside the burning bush suddenly a fire extinguisher appears. Enlightened I make it clear to God,
    “Your little Zen joke is not funny.”
  • Still life Hieronymus Bosch paintings come into being. Russian soldiers put on their version of Moulin Rouge in the bombed out section of apartments. All three rooms are scenes of terrible violence. Rape murder beatings. Suddenly lights go out and the screaming stops. Militias crept everywhere with guns to protect the audience. The back alley was even darker. Inside was much safer.
  • The scanner refused to read the price of the wart remover. The cashier opened a matchbook read it and leaned over kissing me softly on the lips. “There,” he said kindly, “now those warts will go away.”