The SignsI woke up in a daze.Somehow I figure that's an oxymoronic phrase, because the moment of wake is never awake, your consciousness is hitting Snooze ten to twenty minutes after you've discovered this blanket feels like your blanket, this pillow is soft like your pillow, this room is a room you've entered and left and smelled and stomped on and talked to.The signs are all around you.But if you woke up in a daze the sheets would have no texture, the memories of lying side by side with Tracy/Shaniqua/Insert-Name-Here on silky sheets reproached; the next-door-neighbor's dog's girlfriend down the way her bark is haunting groan of
Baby Bambitrampling over weeds and twigsa deer fights the wind andher own hooves fail her—noisy. too noisyto shake the gun.None of us are fast enough to shake the gun.not even God's alleged swansong the human racewho of their own accordconstructed weapons of mass destruction.yes. noman no deer no heart no thing resiststhe impact of a bullet,except for the spirit.but what good is a spirit if no one can hear itwhen it tells us what it's really like to live inheaven?none of us can shake the gunand none of us can hear the spirits hum.Arrows and bullets and slingshots reflectthe darkness in our heartsand perhaps our e