the grieving lecturer

easing the aim and nutrition of defecation and response with running water, pooled in cupped hands, and then drained and now staring at veins which make me think of the worn old picture frames we used to fascinate over, me and sis, me fascinated while she just watched, sympathetic towards learning.

the bathroom is missing something, perhaps a tape recording, a loop of pre-recorded voices warning or prohibiting, or perhaps a recording of water running played just audible so when i turn the tap off, it is not too much of a shock and i can reach for the towel and not tremble.

leaving the bathroom now, and last night i dreamed of the grieving lecturer, a character over and over again, i dreamed him and erased him and re-dreamed him again and again. i could only remember him as a memory when i awoke. this time he had a heavy beard, was tall, and had a crumpled linen suit and he was holding a brick, in tears, at the front of the lecture theater. if this doesn’t stay as an image, nothing will. he will be different tonight no doubt, but still dying of loss like always.