WALKING ON THIN ICE

“I lost a pound. I hadn’t shit for three days. Then I just made a fast big firm one and lost a pound.”

“I’ve decided we’re piss and shit machines for Mother Earth. I think it’s Mother Earth’s plan. She wants us to dig up this mineral in country A. Put it into fertilizer in country B. Put it on crops in country C. Ship the food to country D, where we eat it an shit it out. It’s Mother Earth’s way to get the mineral from A to D.”

“Well, Global Shipping of food is not part of Mother Earth’s plan.”

“Global Shitting is.”

I make coffee, give a cup to Smith.

“Thank you. Oh yeah, you’re a lady, K. Well, I met a little lady and she a shady gray. But when I lick her lapidarry it the only way.” He’s saying stuff from a poem.

“You wanna lick my lappy, happy pappy?”

“I wanna read again.” We need to be among poets badly. I’m looking forward to London, where we plan to have a reading at the Poetry Cafe.

* * *

Dream last night. My arms were contaminated with bad soil. Visible tape worms squiggled about on the the undersides of my arms, burrowing under my skin. I tried to get all them off, but there were too many of them.

Looked at my arms, and eight of the worms succeeded in getting completely. I watched them make fluid movements under the skin.

Fortunately then I woke up. Good to be in this reality rather than that one.

When I first started my travels, I’d wake up in the dead of night and worry about my family. I’ve been gone so long that I’ve stopped doing that.

I feel guilty for not calling my grandmother. Mom says she might be slipping a little more into Alzheimer’s grasp.

I do write letters to Grandma, but it’s cumbersome to set up Skype and I do not want the reality of Home invading my current, more independent reality.

Sometimes I dream about Grandma, and she’s a little girl or a kitten I must protect. Heartburn.