Bather between light and darkness.
That's what I'm hoping my book will be called.
However, my editor and I are still on the wrestling mat.
I am floating like being in a tub of water, moving
toward the lights.
He is floating in the water.
He is wiping the table with a dirty napkin.
The place is big I can feel it breathing.
We are moving toward the lights.
The dream about my death drops into my head,
foamy red and almost boiling.
I don't want it to happen.
If it's going to hurt.
The things I hear are going out my left ear
and moving toward the lights like a woman
wearing a red sweater.
Wearing a red sweater, I am attracted
by the view behind her out the window
at the civilized periphery.
It is clean.
It is highly finished like these clothes of mine,
moving toward the lights.
I'm sliding down the bench into the scenery
out the window towards the woman.
I'm thinking about inertia as the wall vanishes.
The woman is dancing.
I am thinking about the woman sliding toward the lights.
The red sweater vanishes.
Again, the ending gets a little vague
as she slowly puts her arm around his shoulder
as she slowly puts a dagger through the bones in his chest.
She puts lights in his chest.
Her arm is a big cloak.
Pieces of him glow all over the room.
I recognize nothing but the color of brown wrapping paper.
Now she's giving me the big present.