I revised this Tanka prose. Always something new.
Harry is singing his song in a parking lot, of an elementary school–somewhere in a midwestern state. He has a full band backing him. His voice beautiful resounding over the whole black top. Kathy is trying to get money to fund him.
He deserves it, she says. So do I, I say under my breath feeling rather empty inside.
I run to an open field of grass some of the blades are yellowing but it is pure space under blue skies and sunshine. Uncanny for this time of year in a midwestern state.
Three men running behind me with a baby Bengal tiger at their side. One of the men has blood dripping down his face. The baby Bengal unleashes and bolts towards me–his mouth wide open in a smile is about to knock me over.
I wake up to find Bodhi, my little…
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