and set myself upon a field of Glee.  oh glum it was and full of gore and lore when we escaped ourselves and melded in the floor of mud that braced itself in useless claws and guaranteed our fate with simple laws.  we were or would have been on our home turf, a simple ample cottage near our place of birth, when times went all awry and we escaped four score lest there should  come behind us many more.  the little house was shook with posted notice.  we grabbed the boy and ran, thrown over shoulder.  pressed on to wescliff across bluebonnet circle not knowing where we went nor august wimple.  i sat upon a shore and dreamed of him who would at last come home and save us men.  encountered by the door, beleaguered all, we would return back home but were appalled. i ran a barefoot mile in sinful store, protecting for my souls from so much more.  if this be not a riot i don't know the meaning of confusion in my pores...

i dreamed i was in the house on parkridge, with others, including a young boy.  a notice was posted on the door.  we grabbed the boy and ran, but as we left a portion of the house just slipped away.  we proceeded up the hill to westcliff village, interviewed with a man who wanted to trade work for writing lessons.  in panic we headed home, avoiding a field, staying on pavement, for  i was barefoot.  gloss remains where gloss abstains

it is 4:30 am.  woke up confused and word drunk from dreams.  singing matt mahr's amen.  because he lives.  i just have to survive one more day on what i have.  can buy groceries sunday on my way home from church with jeanne.  trying to clear my head.  ready to surrender..