20 AVENUE A
I went to my London cabbie saying 'why you here
and how?' - he smiled, saying nothing much back.
It's always like that in this dream: regiments of the
plain and bad, with qualifications to qualify nothing.
'How can I make you pay,' he said, 'when there's
really no ride at all?' I smiled back in my best and most
nonchalant way, 'I hear you, yes, but the words are
unclear - and whatever it is I will pay.' On his window
was etched a map of the world - all going nowhere,
all circular and overlapping, with a hole in the middle,
for Time and what roads it brings.
I went to my London cabbie saying 'why you here
and how?' - he smiled, saying nothing much back.
It's always like that in this dream: regiments of the
plain and bad, with qualifications to qualify nothing.
'How can I make you pay,' he said, 'when there's
really no ride at all?' I smiled back in my best and most
nonchalant way, 'I hear you, yes, but the words are
unclear - and whatever it is I will pay.' On his window
was etched a map of the world - all going nowhere,
all circular and overlapping, with a hole in the middle,
for Time and what roads it brings.
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