It's hot in L.A. The groans of the construction crane outside mask the quiet music in my office. Oh wait there is no music. Just silence. Songs in my head. Songs in the attic, the basement, the living room, the office.
Chills alternate with too-hot spasms. Sleep moments interrupt the flow of thoughts. No beginning, no end. Just an eternal current.
On the poetry blog, there's a bonus - an actual short story! Here it is. The story was rejected for publication elsewhere. It seems to fit better in my own little universe. It's my favorite story of 2008. Might be my only one. I need to finish the stories I start. I need to start the ones I live.