city of psychopaths

she is several floors above
i rise in fits,
narcoleptic dashes,
the purpose forgotten
and then suddenly remembered
the waking mind stirs,
sees dream rumbling
and swirling about,
puts its eye to a newspaper,
asks the dreaming mind --
“what’s the paper say?”
the dreaming mind is sure that it says something
it’s a newspaper, that’s what newspapers do
pressed, dreaming mind looks closer
and the black lines dance like an
ant hill, no letters, no meaning, just
shapes
shapes
thus crippled, the dream folds away
i find her, she regards me
with bitterness
and answers my questions
(no words, just desperation)
with shapes
no words
no meaning