in the spidery redbrick anus of every dirtily symphonic city,
in every motorway child's blurry streetlight eyes, there is new wisdom... 
skypilots, and pylons, 
and flashes of divinity - dodgings round -
monocarpic shutter eyes and flashgun slow-down years of life
in every smile; new wisdom.
there's are bartlebys and emilys
burying all our dead thoughts
in the vast orchestra of the insect buzz, the airborne moth, 
organs drowned in jukeboz melody,
as they should be,
trailing bleeding skies around the feet,
they breathe the beat -
metallic blows to beaming eyes of laser boredom;
another surge of oceanic wisdom...
the bored in court, the lost watched,
every faded figure of the glorious daguerreotype,
of every gentleman with swirling smoky fingers of the lost age
of telegrams and typewriters,
sewn into a dream, by threads of sky and candlelight,
staring with membrane eyes through a blood-stained window of night and solstice,
cloud black rooms of beating hearts, crushed to airy dust in hope of the first ones...
the sacred silent need new wisdom

pinpoints of inspiration,
flashes of glory


"I would prefer not to."

oh you did a good thing, oh you did a bad thing
(and i'm not happy and i'm not sad)

leave all of this behind

"I is some one else."