What She Says is I'm Drowning In Them

A cloud of moisture hangs peculiarly above the old bathtub when a heavily bearded man enters and begins shaving. The blues are in the next room and the light is dim. The woman in the tub is crying. “What is it?” he asks, still shaving. “It’s the blues” she says, “I’m drowning in them.” “To hell with the blues” he says, and puts down his razor. He reaches in to pull her out but she is too sodden, too saturated. She slips through his fingers like wet paper. He has nothing to hold, nothing to grip, standing there, with half of a beard.

A Criosphinx is a Sphinx with the Head of a Ram

There is a woman named Linda who visits me in my house. I don’t know who she is exactly or where she comes from. I don’t know how she gets in, but she is always welcome. I do know she’s saved me from those awful wolves who don’t know the first thing about anything. “Here’s how you read,” she says, “and here’s what a criosphinx is.”