<pafunda's "migraine trails a dull nude"> 2003-06-02.11:25 a.m. Migraine Trails a Dull Nude Danielle Pafunda In the bath I did not think of anything fantastic. Not red wings on white birds. Not twinned fangs on cobras. Not a great cat by a pearl-black river, the autumnal corpse, the skeletal moon, or even a shadow of the sun. None of the violet things were floating there. None of the blue things, the iridescent things, the green things. The water was not aspic, was not solvent, was not absinthe. The soap was not milk-soap, not scented, not magical, or anodyne. I did not think I heard a visitor, a thief, or ghost beyond the bathroom door. Not a voice from heaven, because I had not thought. I was just that pain which sits inside the halo and cannot name anything but its own self. back /& forth /& frosting names are often sad