These words itch, like soldiers infesting an apartment block
Walking through walls floors ceilings to pose with cell phone.
Phones homes. I dreams I painted this in a story I won't read
Tomorrow before the phone rings and Swans chase the doors
& inevitable flights of stairs. Es sind keine Schwäne da. There are places
I can't itch. It remembers me having scratched but that may
Have been drug induced. The fun is in the lighting which is
Why you sometimes want another before the last one is
Finished. Painted minds. Patient mimes in a minefield of
Abstractions, twitching in their tights. Taut as the horizon
With fuzzy lines. There is no pointillism here to speak of.
Itch is the oversoul we the fleas in the circus, swans
I think in my delusion and then the twist - you saw it for miles
- I am the one doing it, making it happen, back behind it all.
Great Scott you say quite realistically. Push buttons
Impossibility over
Incompetence and
Impotence demands we play cut throat.
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