Moving my mind out of the way, spirit to body, yoked yoked, drained to the bone. I've had this cold for months across this endless brutal god damned winter. Dead invisible weight. I let it loose doing that mudra, where my tongue slipped behind my palate my throat now alarmed, the little shelf of fire in the back of my head, sneezing in fits responding. All I can do is sleep and dream of an eagle and think man alive they're big, like a small car - who knew?