From breathing mirages To breathing umbrellas Which stick in my throat To shelter the juggler I just turned to look out the side of my head and there was nobody there, which is normal. I just turned to look out the back of my head and my shadow is there, wagging his finger, which is normal. I treat him with a sarcastic disdain, since my shadow has no right to berate me.

I just turned to look out the side door of the house and the late-afternoon sun on the fence and garden looks beautiful. A feeling of faded aptmosphere makes me swoon. Birds chirping and whatnot, all so lame and all so lovely.