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Poetry

—-My fee for appearing in one of your dreams is fifty cents a night. No fee at all for appearing as a cloud but think of me please when you wake. As for angels, the illustrator must be paid for her artistry. Her pen tip is sharp. Her ink is blood. She draws directly on the skin then penetrates down into the nervous system, a saucy tattoo.
—-See how I breathe in this poem, these words? I will heave up and down the same way in your dream. I will breathe for free if you never tell me your dream. The best place to keep a dream is under a rock in the story of Jacob.
 —-An ordinary rock at the foot of a ladder to heaven.


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