i dream of sleep
I spread my sleeping bag over a great big vacancy, an absence of family, friends, God, and love. I surrendered all semblance of life a long time ago. I have nothing to look forward to. Except for that final falling. Or a morphine drip and bad television in an old hospital late in the world. I'll still dream, when I'm dead, of an Asian woman--the arch of her bare foot and the deep black night of her hair. Or I'll dream of being an alcoholic with Mark E. Smith, drinking pints in a country pub late some morning, watching the fog blow through the green folds of the countryside.