my glasses resting on top of Gravity's Rainbow,
flying through the air chasing me,
through suburban station. I
am scrambling to get a ticket,
but first must get change, break a
ten dollar bill. I am with semi popular Philly
musicians and bound from train to train.

If it all seems strange to you, a bit insane,
it is.

I am fabricating truthfully the next great post
postmodern american marvel,
one
       line
              at
                  a
                    time.

If it all seems strange to you, a bit insane,
it is.