In the Dust of This Planet

The bandleader has found his glasses! I can see everything — Central Park all the way down to the World Trade Center. I prefer to look at people working in the office than me working in the office. My face shows nothing of what I’m feeling. I have never had a day when someone doesn’t look at me with an openly questioning gaze. I call it a cross between archaeology and surgery. Draw as many different lines as you can. This will be a terrifying time for the 100,000 people still trapped.


So much is coming at us that we jump, turn clockwise, and cut with the kitchen knife through the beer belly of the Republic. My daughter could be in there bleeding. This place is very dangerous. There are countless dead rabbits. There might be someone with a gun. People send us their children to get healthy but they leave in ambulances and body bags. One accidental martyr screams, “Open that door and let me out! Right now! It’s a travesty! Open that door!” You suddenly become the protagonist of crime scene photos. Why cry about it? We have always lived with fire.


Are you fucking kidding me? A fly can't land on a fruit tree without permission first from the Mafia. Time is burning. Don’t you think NASA should hide this? Behind the bookcase there’s a wall, and after that a door. A woman shouts, and dozens of us hear her and ask her questions, but she can only use a stone to tap in response. I keep thinking that it’s just so easy to run in a dream without getting out of breath.



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