"The cigarette burn'd
my fingertips,
& dropp'd like a log
to the rug bellow,
My eyes took a trip
to dig the chick
crouch'd like a cat
at the next window,
My ears assembled music
out of swarming streets
but my mind rebelled
at the idiot's laughter
cheering an army of
vacuum cleaners...
Mouth fills w/ taste of copper.
Chinese paper. Foreign money. Old posters.
Gyro on a string, a table.
A coin spins. The faces.
There is an audience to our drama.
Magic shade mask.
Like the dream, he works for us,
in our behalf.
How close is this to a final cut?
I fall. Sweet blackness.
Strange world that waits & watches.
Ancient dread of non - existence. (...)"
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