tHIS
night/ i am STrUNG up as two cats on heat/ up the
wALLs
& halfway cross the ceiling/ reeling/ three in tHE
fucked
up morning/ screaming (silently, in the silent
city).
dreams
have
gone
to
sleep.
and a mILLion teleVISION sets
sits
cOLDly, lonely, in forgotten corners/ and i sit, cold,
alone,
in the blue, untalking light/ wishing wishes &
pissing
into the hurricane.
Out
there/ in the dARKness/ another window bLAZES out
tungsten
sorrow/ high frequency tension/ a fellow
sufferer,
reviling against mORPHEUS’s caress for
free in
the morning, dark madness.
But
this is not the Chelsea Hotel/ Joni Mitchell is not
at her
piano, playing “Blue”.
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