Maybe I’m Amazed

Just because there is music piped into the most false of revolutions it cannot clean these senses of slow wireless death crawling from a slick mirror 1/8th it’s normal size . . . Marty was found dead by the man literally blue 12 hours after falling out at the foot of the Cloisters with its millions in rare tapestry and its clear view of the Hudson and even testing your blue pills over and over to reverse my slow situations I wind up stretched across the couch still nodding with Sherlock Holmes examining our crushed veins Richard Brautigan, I don’t care who you are fucking in your clean California air I just don’t care though mine are more beautiful anyway (though more complex perhaps) and we have white flowers too right over our window on 10th St. like hands that mark tiny x’s across infinity day by day but even this crumb of life I eventually surface toward continues to nod as if I see you all thoughtlessly through a carefully inverted piece of tainted glass shattered in heaven and found on these streets