In This Illness
In This Illness By Throstle Beautiful pebbles of shattered bottles' olive-green glass had been swept into a small pile on a cheap wood coffee table three sides of which had been gnawed on by the large and less than well-trained Labrador of the couple with whom I lodged. The table's only non-gnawed edge faced the couch on which I waited for the effects of my illness to fade. With this illness came a month of insanely vivid dreams. In one, I'm somewhere so charged with the spirit of...