I am Judy and her Dream of Horses ( ! ), last night a dream: Ludicris being all actor-activist, friends making documentary on it, the southern plantation I'm squatting, the horse ( 'honey' ) roaming its innards, neighbors that complain a horse ought be tethered to a spire in the front lawn... the dream jot was: "honey/ the horse/ being free/ documentary / Lud / activists / chains treat / yard rain, constant / escape."
It is turning June-hot in Nashville, in which I swoon for the spiders that kiss me, their own way. I imagine them lurching in the grass awake this way.
O, hot summer nights worn hurrah-hurrah, the return of less: one does read so very hard, and much, to get to know a writing such as JoAnna Novak's writing: first this, then this, this, and this.
