INCIDENTAL MUSIC TO
THE DANCE OF TIME
The Cheerios have caved in, these muffins are green,
the scent of this milk is nauseating. If I think about
any more, I'll get ill. Better to look away - the curtains
hold a certain sunlight, where the moon too had recently
been. Now how, I wonder, can that be?
-
One pattern of the mind wants to say, 'I've been up an
hour, Eisenhower; another says 'shut up.' Either way I
turn, I'm in a landlocked hell - my ship, stuck in the
harbor, has started to list. How far before it topples
over? And here the noisy trash truck drives by.
-
Too long in any one place makes me nervous. While
being among others, it becomes even worse. I get
disheveled and my mind loses course; I cannot
make sense and my words distort.
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