And I wondered if I was awake or asleep, if it was the moon's paleness or Lucifer's, if it was midnight or dawn!

When I died — a long time ago — I was buried with wolf-fangs and transistor radio. While brain festered in my skull, I pondered negative numbers and the mess I had left: bills, some jottings reminding me to return a phone call from the black side of the sun.

When the class that, unbeknownst to our age, we continue to attend, truly reaches its end, night falls on the self. What’s the use of clarifying it, full of tears?

“Imagine an encounter that goes unreported by language.”