I had a dream I carried a lamb in my arms, and I think
about that as I sit across from you. You’re poking a steak
with your fork in a diner as the sun rises. You say you
have to work but you’ve been fired so I know that’s a lie.
That’s the business. Leave then, go the gym. Walk on the
treadmill, die of thirst. Eat the air and hope that’s enough
to fill how many gaps in the stomach? Two? Eighteen?
Make sure to hydrate. Sweat is stronger than pride. Or
maybe pride is stronger. I see it burning your eyeballs red,
your wrinkled lips steaming. I want them to dry off and fall
into my palm. I want to control your legs. All I have is your
fork in my fist, poking desperate holes into the sky so the
darkness filters through. It makes you want to sleep but
you make choices to counteract this. Choosing to raise
the speed with seven beeps, choosing to turn wet and
orange and burn. There is nothing I can do but watch. In
the dream I did that too. I put the lamb down in a patch of
grass and left it alone.