July 17, 2000: A pillow for the gosling

Not only can you taste it, the scent invades your dreams. It’s worse than garbage soaking in the sun! The scent of death does all it can to push you away. This thought, it takes me too close to an area I don’t wish to travel beside. A major change since the mid to late eighties—when life seemed un-saving therefore I sacrificed it—including my marriage. Yet, I didn’t pick up on any scent. My pen becomes silent—does this mean I’m growing? Do I fear what I write? After all…I’m a product of this modern day society—children are born premature and some don’t make it past the vacuum. Still, unexplained—the gosling kept screaming, “Stay away!” His wings broken, legs snapped in two and a spirit that took over me—only to hear the geese at midnight calling out in the saddest way.