Sometimes when I dream of this city,
this city of several uncanny
severely disjointed dreams --
sometimes I get chills. I get frills.
I can't start to think
of simple procedures,
like wanting to take a breath.

Sometimes when I think about
the city - I agree that
I'm in a schizophrenic love affair
with the callous road that
lead to the gates
of your fragile city.

I get so angry in the face
with veins appearing
in three dimensional ways
all over my discarded skull - when I drink
to the city.

Sometimes I like to sit myself
down
and pat on backs
and stand on shoulders
and defeat purposes
of trying really hard
to crawl or slide
to capture these affected smiles -
within a series of dim photographs --
falling in a flawless line
telling the affable tale of
a static life.


Sometimes, in the city,
I like to take long walks
upside down.
watching people -
watching me, inside out.
And sometimes in this city -- in this *******
particular city. All I ever want is
to look at imperfectly descending
angels
dreaming a fairy-tale
for him & for her
& for anyone - who's ever dared to dance
on the lonesome streets of the city.