city of psychopaths
you read about them in the magazines
and imagine blue shirts
stalking each other with black knives
through flourescent silence
and imagine blue shirts
stalking each other with black knives
through flourescent silence
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
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