AT THE RAINBOW HILTON
No dreams, no dreams like this one.
No dreams, no dreams like this one.
You make me savage and dense, have already.
I take out the spoon, and the sharpened knife,
which I then plunge (effortlessly) into my
still self-sustaining chest. I fall to the ground,
dying. But before that ends, everything is over
and I wake up again standing straight. The ladle
has fallen off the counter, and your blood-red
soup is dripping onto the floor. The ceiling
lamp seeps forth its errant light, illuminating
all and nothing just the same. I glance at the
calendar page on the door. It reads '1954'.
and I wake up again standing straight. The ladle
has fallen off the counter, and your blood-red
soup is dripping onto the floor. The ceiling
lamp seeps forth its errant light, illuminating
all and nothing just the same. I glance at the
calendar page on the door. It reads '1954'.
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