. The Voices in My Head… …are voices from my past…

.
The Voices in My Head…

…are voices from my past. They have phone numbers and e-mail addresses. They are channeled to me from the home office in DC. They reach me from across the ocean in my backyard where it’s raining like a broken record. They’re talking to each other behind my back. Snubbing me at the cocktail party in my mind, they send Spyboys out for my prospectus. Red flags. Calling on cell phones from the street in New York, they play me off against The Man. A false, crackling glimmer in a pile of wet leaves. Hardened oil on a vintage hunting coat and an elusive clog in the plumbing. I smell a crow. You talk, and I’ll listen. But, dammit, I don’t do windows.

Be in touch,
Vanx