June 30, 2012

Maybe because I napped so much yesterday in the heat, my dreams last night were abundant, lengthy, and what I would call “shallow”– not deep and weird like some, but almost like waking life. Feel I must hose the garden against melting or bursting into flame, Kevin against his boiling in his own pond. At the crack of dawn assembled The Book of the Mystic for some guy in Spain who offers 7000 euros for mystical poetry. I should tell him I have nothing else but.