Why did I dream about you, after all this time? You were there in a sketch the way you once were. And the two of us were going home together, my place or yours. Yet we were older, there was… Read More ›
dreams
Reflection
In the dream I was doing yoga in a class with mostly women, squatting, feeling overweight, with the sensation that my wang was poking out. It was, and I realized it must be a dream. I felt my body strain… Read More ›
‘Blood stain from a rabbit carcass on the front doorstep’
It took me 55 minutes to walk from my mother-in-law Beth’s back to our house after dinner. It was dusk but I didn’t get rained on, I got home before dark. There’s a part of the walk that goes up… Read More ›
Irregular verb patterns and dreams
I went on the side of the house that still feels like the country and had a leak there, spied the full moon through the trees out too many nights in a row now, bleary eyed and runny; I saw… Read More ›
Life lessons from dreaming dogs
The dog in her sleep quivered, you would have thought she was dead she looked so still – some replayed scene imagined to make her believe she was somewhere else, living.
‘Dreams are like water, colourless and dangerous’
It’s The Wednesday of our Lives, halfway through a nine-month tour of Europe, three months in the UK. We remind Lily dreams aren’t real, sometimes they’re just a manifestation of our fears and hopes — but dreams you want to make… Read More ›
Anyone at all
When the time comes you have nowhere left to go, go back to sleep and forget about things for sleep is like death and won’t come when it’s called – it’s better to sleep without the weight of dreams and wake… Read More ›
A ribbon of darkness all the way
There are prehistoric smells in my mom’s laundry area where the drain water from the washer sometimes gathers and the floor’s a stark grey stone material, a peat bog of sphagnum moss collapsing in on itself, which makes a fine… Read More ›
Implied rooms
There is no part of me I can leave without seeing myself still, as I get smaller on the shore. I move about my space wondering at the edges as a toddler fans the border, at what keeps us inside. And… Read More ›
What happened when the vanpool driver cracked
This is a confession about me, the vanpool driver, and how I’ve begun to secretly hate the other riders on our van. It’s no different than what happens to bus drivers, taxi drivers, airplane pilots: people who get paid carting… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 