The lottery lady made of lines of music and curves of ink--I saw her for just one second this morning right as I woke up and I realized I forgot to say when she spun out of that office and dropped that guy's hand she was just like a Chagall painting, exiting up into the night with the other happy beings of that little town, hanging out, milking their cows, dancing, and I think she's the lazy girl lying around sprawled naked on thick roses. I know you can see it.
I don't know whose dreams--mine are never this pretty.