no calendar, no clock, no schedule

Thich Nhat Hanh

Wasps, by the bucketful, cover my face like a mask. I have begun having dreams where I am someone else, not me at all. Once, I was an old man who loved a young girl the way a child loves Jesus. In another I was an angry gangster facing down the police. These are dreams that smell of meat, and taste of sadness and guilt. With my hands I ru…