Synthesis

Synthesis

Save us! A sex-fiend went to the wheel of the train. Is this the way out? Yes, but flies crawl downwards. I have a picture of Saturn.

The situation has changed:

it is the wrong kind of number.

The babies are crying. Well, then, it must be a holiday. It is green. If you like you can say the same.

“Diabetes is on the increase.” It is the Americas: they are pushing me. into something almost final like the end of summer.

I am not Lord Tennyson but this is as close as I can get.

Neither boy nor girl but more than motivated.

In my hand is a streetmap of X.

Yesterday is a revolution:

how and why are details.

Water smells roses. A fallen petal on the wet flagstones. White girls push white babies: the loss and gnashing of teats. “What counts is a failed life.”

That's it, plus the death of voices.

(The sound of a typewriter. A man smoking.)