not remember 2010, I suspect it because I still trembling body. The new year bore us violently, I heard cries ("Mine?), Or maybe it was the old year who drove us out. I cherish the slap I got to open my eyes because I wanted to see. I look at my bed and I sleep when I'm standing outside the broken window. Behind the glass undermines the floor. I watch the clouds race the wind, but the breath smells like fire. The sleeping in the bed rest, which looks at the world write but shake her pulse. Life gestated in damp wood. I witness the birth of a des-Enchanted Isle.
© SJM
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