sleeping scars the restless mind,
something the psychologist
said: nightmare's claws carve ******-
septic lines
across the innards of the head,
which drip,
fear, loathing and strychnine
into your waking world
as you awake in bed something
the psychologist said

decay is a song
     of varicoloured leaves
sung in winter's tongue
     to summer as she grieves

and if we never reach the stars
       (...earth to explorer v...)
her robot said
       (...fatal error [...] oxygen supply...)
what matters is we are
       (...no crewmen left alive...)
together, even if we're dead

stormless nightscape
neon lightning
car-thunder and auto-hum
the dark doldrums
sky scrapes
violence even in brightest daytime
the city is
its own weather system
tempestuous / slum
lashing / victims
of architecture: humans undone
slithering, slithering
we,    slugs of no sun

we spoke / we listened
now we are each other's head-
aches, quietly break-
ing

[If I were a house, I am not a house / No more.] am I in order (like bricks being a wall) but disordered, like a pile (of bricks after the fall) / All whom I'd within me are already passed//past my vacant chaos grows now [only g( )***: blades of broken wi( )dows, which sadly did not last.]

heart beating // beating
wings lift me and flight begins
bare feet above ground
the world receding / the world
beginning [...] to appear small.