Passing out, I Daydream

I come home and it's all blah blah nonny nonny in my head. So I spread myself out
on the couch legs dangling at the calf forearm resting against forehead tussling my hair. And David's got some spittle spattle hum buzz coming from the stereo. Should I ask who it is? Or should I already know? Less effort, say nothing. My mouth is aching from the second and third ulcer spreading tiny pale deadskinned
fingers along the southern-most edges of my gums. So I talk quiet and slow like a cowboy mouth full of chaw. For dinner I'll eat that room temperature rice sitting in the wok, maybe that's why I have these sores. Maybe I don't eat enough bananas these days. Maybe I'm not taking care of myself again.
I daydream of Thailand.
Tuk tuks clitter clattering down dirt roads pockmarked and long running scars bleeding deep brown sludge. I'm standing there mesmerized by the buzzing bells of newness. The rain just stopped and the leftover drops slowly find there way down my red mountain anorak. I'm waiting for the bus. The clang-clang, tin-and-twine number that'll take me down to the coast. Down to the pier. Down where the people move slow and easy. Where the beaches are glittering and endless. Down where the tall blond Germans don't go. I'll cover my body in perfect white sand and lay all day by the jade colored water until the great red god in the sky dips his toes, then torso, and finally his head into the sea.












This week could take all year...