The world that reflections fall to
beneath the petrol station in
the rain – that world where things are good
how can we reach it? The world where
the chemical imbalances
are mostly corrected. In there
where people don’t get stuck. I love
all of my friends, I love you all.
But you need to go to buildings
everyday, in other cities.
Things are made difficult by this.
You need to tap at keys and make
small adjustments, and be harrassed
by parents as their children cry
and try to cope with complex stress.
There is no line. No prime matter
that would lie down beneath things and
smoothly answer questions. Like why
argent, a cross gules, prevails here?
a symbol of stupidity
flutters in the cold wind. As I
attempt to make myself think well,
reach that world dropping away now
beneath the rivers, beneath seas