Sick for my father. Dusted urban parks and wintered school yards remind me of him, of childhood.
The sun is bright and close but cold. It can warm me if I sit on just the right park bench.
Unreal mountain land dreams terrible dreams. Staying in a giant casino world with lights flashing always and music playing everywhere and a bar around each corner. And all of it lost in the 1950s and 60s.
Dreaming last night that my father died. We were driving on a twisting river road of gravel where the speed limit was 35 mph but he was going 75 mph, he went over a cliff as I told him to slow down. I jumped out of the window and landed in trees but he died at the bottom. Terrible hotel bed dreams.