CLEAN CUT by Toti O’Brien Yesterday I killed a dream with a kitchen knife rapidly, my hand fast my teeth clenching. Now the wound… hair thin and invisible until purple appeared then spread like an avalanche. Pale, the head rolled in a corner. I checked it (of course) turning it face up with a kick: it was mine. Reassured I slept through the night. Today I’m up early sound and safe just slightly compressed as if soul and body had lost inches of air fever foam as if a large stone had crushed me down to my proper size. A lingering taste of iron earthy heaviness in my limbs. I thought of coffee I made toast. Gyroscope Review - page 41 !