the tickle of
her lashes on his cheek
(but for the insinuating
z e e e n of a m os q ui t o
in his ear) a dream
a field dressing
for a singular wound
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the tickle of
her lashes on his cheek
(but for the insinuating
z e e e n of a m os q ui t o
in his ear) a dream
a field dressing
for a singular wound
I reached for the toilet paper
and there was a mosquito sitting on the roll
and I realized I am living
one Richard Brautigan poem after another