from a notebook while I slept
it occurs to me that my brother’s intermittent addiction to waiting caused him this insight: your real life comes true. it occurs to me he remains a telepath. a telepath whether or not I write as beautifully as he remembers. he sleeps without a pillow claiming it gives his ear nothing to do. he scratches his cheeks and says look at these they are the ribs of a pup I am caged in.
the future of war is war.
kingsoftrain 
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