XIX.

Darting my brain, the thoughts I do not want to think. Bread boards laid out, hot bread upon them. Beaded purses and jaded belts wrapped around skinny waists. A dart here or there. To move, an injured one party desperate, desperate on feelings, sensations rooted underground, tangled in wires around the legs. Steam baths adjoined muscles into hard tension pieces of meat. No relief from the scorching pain, loud knocks on a door, and no one to help let anyone in, parfaits weren't finished, I was on hands and knees to beg off those lovey faces.

 

        I sitck my finger in my nose, and I had a remembrance of the soft smell of baby powder, a dim peak of perfection in my memories. A power hitter for the game, or a team, driving home runs on TV. I failed to cheer. Dalliances led me astray, from something I've never been near; a diary, lost somewhere, proved this. I ripped a room trying to find that valuable possession in the middle of my deepest anxieties. I got sidetracked in finding things I had remembered looking for a long time ago. Crush, crush.

 

        Modern vestiges become history. A salamander is looking for me. I hide. Trickery, regardless how persistant, does not lure me. Pastimes, players beating each other, are favorites to kill hours by, a land deadline to create for promise. Blocks of dust got under the

RIVER BED   68

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