by Richard Leise Annie Lang What remains of last night’s moonlight illuminates the area. The earth an hourglass tipped to rest upon its side, consciousness waxing, thoughts waning, Simon’s mind, like sand beneath the shore’s receding surf, lightens in degrees of gentle gradation. A warm breeze hardens the vomit on his shirt. The dirt in his mouth tastes like dirt. Simon sits up and wipes his mouth with the back of a hand. He makes to spit but there’s a disconnect between desi