Reset Forty-Three, Day Fifteen

[rejectomorph]

So I slept the middle out of Saturday, sort of like licking the cream filling from an Oreo and then spending hours nibbling at the wafers, wishing there was more cream. After that the usual— disliking the heat, eating something for dinner and forgetting what it was, watching some music videos, posting something on the Idernet. And I am Marie of Romania, but I'm not, and I wonder whatever became of her? Time to lie down again and see if I can find creamy oblivion, though I fear I've been having dreams and forgetting them just like dinner. It's probably not safe anywhere anymore.




Sunday Verse

Wound Cream

by Brian Patten


Perhaps it is the way Love’s promoted;
You’d think it came in a jar,
Something that could be spread
Over all that bothers us,
A heal-all, a wound cream,
A media promoted fairytale
Gutted of darkness.

Though its contradictions
Nail us to each other
And the hunger for it
Can be our undoing,
We still use it as a prop,
As proof we are living.

How hard to do other than
Give it precedence, forgetting
How friendship outlives it,
Commits fewer crimes,
Wears its name at times.