Hypocaust

In the middle, I stand, pushing down my insides, is to be whooshed over and over; whooshed by the waves, emanating up from the soles of one’s feet; tidal waves, quick and sudden; humongous waves that cross over one’s bowels,  stomach and heart, crushing them together into a bouncing ball, up and churning it   …

Apperception

  To sleep, or not to sleep? That is the problem. But to sleep, for the obedient wrongdoer, in the aftermath of a wrongdoing done, is not much of a muchness of a problem. A wrongdoing done to another, a deception, is not much of a problem to be borne, if one was ordered by…