Christmas week

The solstice brought gifts of double chocolate vodka and David Jewel's new book(s). So, I devoured them both singing saturnalia songs and rode the double buzz like a nuclear weapon into dreams. Too many alarms like hammer blows and the fog fondles, the fog licks, the fog finds its way inside of me along with the dirt, the detritus, and the humbug of the city of Oz. I dreamed of you Austin – of your imperfect faces – your fractured friendships – your art of precipice. You are an orgy of muses. You are an oubliette. You are the earthquake that shakes and breaks the cup before the tea leaves can be read. I am less like I was and more like myself and I will yet be the warm fog to your Christmas week.