two figures appear in the midnight blue air
in the slick metallic silence of the nightworld
where breezes materialize into sound
but nothing to fear
still only two figures
sorry for jumping like a cottontail
i thought i heard somebody

it was nineteen eighty eight
a black and white world of possibility
is centered sweetly on the vast rosewood
a red gown drips down the ivory
while the second figure
distracts himself from the massacre
i thought i heard somebody singing in the other room
but it was just my voice in my head
burning yet another red

sweet transparency of the small walled studio
we would live on the eighty eighth story
i can see the hudson from here
better yet i can see the ghost of everyone
there’s a certain silence
only present in cold clean white sheets
when you’re lonely too
i thought i heard somebody screaming in the other room
but it was just my bones
getting used to the growing forgetfulness

the bleak and black
two figures huddle under a silk umbrella
there is a smell of wet dirt
and out of the ground comes a little worm looking thing
upon a close and careful look i saw it’s small swivelling ghost
i thought i heard somebody crying in the other room
but it was just the wind
creeping through every crevice at the worst time