Posted on by Elliott David

Some several hours into the morning this morning, I remembered waking up from a nightmare in the middle of the night. The dream itself I can’t recall, only its lingering ghost limb grown upon waking, how it flails then fades forgotten, the empty white wall opposite my bed, the serrated silence of hyperactive, unreal content violently severed into vacancy, an arbitrary and brutal cut off, like Bukowski’s line breaks.