She goes to — beer? no, stops, then what? Doesn’t know — to bed, that’s it, for the last time, do what you said. Turns around, bedroom, bed, clothes off, here, there, heck with it, on the floor, chair, tomorrow she’ll pick up, clean up, whole place, her weekly mess, also one of these weekend days, clean the stove, but before that defrost the fridge — covers back, light off, radio on? No, enough, plenty, too much, sleep now, that’s what she needs. Lies back, sighs deep, feels good, covers up, pillow’s not right, leave it. No, leave it and she’ll never sleep tight. Light on, both pillows still up for reading not sleeping, down, plumps them, once, twice, light off, lies back, deep sigh, covers up, burrows in, pillowcase smells, tomorrow, also the laundry, or Sunday at the latest. So? So what? Go to sleep. Shuts her eyes. Thoughts pass — what a day, some day, night, whole day, part, party, parties, Dot and Sven, seeing Peter again, Arturo wasn’t his name but what it should be, though what’s that mean? “I don’t know, I don’t know.” Sounds so odd, voice in the dark. But she should, this Arturo business, be allowed to — it’s night and very late so she can make as many meaningless observations and statements as she wants till she falls asleep. Make another. Can’t think of any. “Hello, hello?” Still sounds odd. “Mama I’m cold.” Maybe always will sound weird while the light’s out. Alone’s probably why, while with another person, dark or light, he’d say “What’s that you said?” and she could say “I don’t know, just testing, testing, one, two, now back to head, so pretty please pay no mind,” and neither would think much of it. Pleasure of company, safety in numbers. Thinks that’s right, doesn’t care if it isn’t. But make another meaninglessism. Abracadabrafagabrahachoo! “I love you.” Very odd, maybe the mostest. Talk shortly and marry a Swiss miss — at this age, his age, versus Ms. Rage — now she’s making no sense. So what and what if she is or isn’t? For good, more meaninglesspish, quicker to sweep she’ll get. And this other guy. Coming by. You bet. But don’t forget if he rings — no way, late sir. Goodnight or good morning but a newer knowner day. Enough, pointy, too much — stop that, in fact. What? Any thought goes, quicker to deep. But something Diana said — hole back the tide. Means Marietta, means hold, means pellucid, means lucid, about chillen, she in relation to them — as daughter? mother? — but forgets. That she should breast-feed? At least on one breast? Which one — right? left? Sure, tanks, but getting much too much late. Not to conceive but to keep from sleep. What’s Bugs Bunny doing in her predreams? Scat. Where’s Tom or Jerry the cat to chase him away? Never liked Bugs or that cat: too mean, tiger-toothed and wool of wiles. Opens her eyes. That usually does it and did. For when she closes them right after, people or things she doesn’t want in her predreams disappear. How-do mom and dad. Stepping out of the front seat of a car, circa 1960, both doors going bang. Why? Neither can even drive. Who knows how these rings bed in here. Some conglomerate conjectural connection. What? Eléctrica, that’s all. Electrolux — the best — puff puff. Sheep sleep. Folks gone. For no one or thing stays for long. Friend Cecily from golden tooth days comes on stage. Make cents? Haven’t thought or seen of her in these predreams or from what I can member from regular deeper dreamers for years. Hi Cec me friend — Cecily, hi. She waves. Long brout cigarillo in her mout when she never cigaretted before. Then all of a sodden’s in a big, kid’s balloon skying flyward till she’s gone. “Bye.” Smoke burnts to dust. Dog runs on chased by many mangy dogs. Tease the real country. Wobbly dirt road with wheel pebbles in it, tall green fluffy trees round wed apples on them on either wide of the ride, blue shy, white shouds, green operas on the trees also and yellow forwards in the hills, clear day, all day, all the dogs’ tails raving, then nice sleek chased one barks. At me. Hark hark. I smile. A god, had one as a girl, but a different breed, ran away, posted rhymes up on every lamppost every day, visited all the city pounds, cried for nights, didn’t want Granada, Rolph! Rolph! by now gods and countryside have disappeared. Sailing ship in empathy dark seas. Coffee brewing, moo cows, nightleak rain, and ship sinks. Now sunshiny and tree talking pigs painting a two-story mouse. Pigs with overalls on, from come comicbook or cattoon, housepainter’s hats. Fuss me getting slippy. Nice we slice wheat thins the. Feels it humming on. When the cattoons come and all that sleep speak, it’s only minutians away. Slap slap. Up and at. Don’t go yet. Want to have some fun. Force someone on. Who you want to see? Could also force lovemaking if I hunted two and have done so in these seams with sexsex seferal times. Grandpa, that’s who. Opposite of thef. Grandpa, come on Grandpa, come on looking just as he looked when she last looked him a week before he dired. Reddy face, thin freame, straight postique, thick spectators and that wonder bread smile. Daying Hiya darling, meyer darlink, my riddle sweetheart — how ya truly doing? “I’m fine, Grandpa, sleepy but mine, and you?” Knew. Disappears. Forgot what I wasn’t supposed to tak long aloud in my pregleam dreams. Grandpa, bag on stage, wall in, say huddough to me again peas. Does, same suit, hat on now though. Quarter times she saw him he bore a half. Hi Grandpa — Grandpa, if knew you would do it anyruddy could, and hi. Hell me mo beautiful grandchild. Miss you, Grandpa. Me too to you, my child squeet. Miss you so much, Grandpa. Me me to too, my toot sweet. Miss you that much and am more glad I not falls into deep before I liss how much I say you, Grandpa. Me ma, ah-goo, sweet child. Wiss I had you round to isk about lots of doorbell rings. He’s gone. Eyes open. Grundpepere’s gone. Downstairs bother’s binging. Downstairs bell’s ringing. Don’t answer it a night song. Only could be key. Won’t let Kin in. City. Minsky. Who’s he? She’s too lazy. He was too late in coming. She doesn’t want to see anyone now. Too sleepy, not lazy, go away awhile and maybe. Again. Downstairs buzzer’s buzzing, no downstairs ring or bell. Just take the money and understand? Plenty. Or let him in or speak. Show him the courtesy, give him the couch and a wishrag and trowel and go back to sheep. Kidding? Buzzer’s rebothering. Gets up, turns on the light, hasn’t been in bed long, runs to the kitchen, pushes
