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--- M I C H A E L   M C N E I L L E Y

the freeway backed up traffic down to one lane north 2 lanes south but nothing to see here the other side of the mattress drug into the cave where the teenagers go the beercans too bent to go through the recycler to get the nickel back the dog and the neighbor's dog lying in the sun too old to fuck or fight the pickup with weeds growing up through the bed but still looks good in the rain the 3am wakeup call heard only in the dream the halfseen movement in dying light through trees a perfume of dim memory that comes and goes in still air a sound that could be snow outside smoke from our mothers' wombs

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