Thursday was empty & Friday was soaked in bleach In the dream someone told me that my sister had died & I wept & later in a swirl of people in a room that was like a garden I spoke to a woman who held a bottle containing a bright sapphire colored liquid In another dream
		I am writing a poem
				but in a new 21st century slow motion style I only just
	discovered the building of poems in a manner similar to the final shootout in The Wild Bunch or Keanu Reeves dodging bullets in The Matrix only in the poetic version you don't dodge them incoming bullets but move in order to catch each one in the heart
			& so very little time to rip the heads off of roses or taste the sewage effluent spilling into the sea
					the beach wasn’t legal there the expectation was that the waves would find some other place to break