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Just in time for Valentine's Day,
the Guardian in London has
reviewed and raved about
The Secret Language of Sleep.
And, for the rest of the week,
you can buy it for $5!
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Crusaders.F.V. BY KIKI PETROSINO
It sleeps in my chest. Wings abjure in dreaming white. How fast it dreams. How slur. A silence in the canebrake. When we came to the canebrake. I tore my yellow coat. You spoke to a bird. Tall slur of sunlight on the water's chest. In dreams you take my coat into your white shell mouth. I race among the hard white stalks of cane, breaking my feet sharply against their gloss. I dream a bird lands on the wooden desk in my chest to slur its bones with ink. You slur above me like white linen rolling outward from a tea-chest. Come. We can sleep in the canebrake. I know a bird who drops down. Dreams are falling from its beak. And some dreams even slur, so that the bird may stay and speak to both of us, more white for our time in the canebrake sleeping chest to chest. How the bird trebles in our dreams of what can break. Inclining hard into the slur of small exits. White houses fold. Each roof a bird moving in the slur that cane-stalks make as turning white we fill with birds—
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