A Dream About Matthew

I see all of San Francisco from the summit of Mount Haleakalā.

It is dawn and a dense fog settles as a crown around my head.

A jagged crack slaps my face.

Matthew turns to ask:

“What is the total of every moment ever spent?”

An angel with a sword appears and stabs him in the heart.

“What a peculiar idealist!” I say.

Matthew dies and together we spread his ashes.

(c) Rob Goldstein 2015-2017 All Rights Reserved

Question Mark And The Mysterians  – 96 Tears
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