A room, a block of concrete hiding insanity. Our collective hysteria. So easy to let loose behind locks. The night is blue with screeches, 1,021 ones tonight, each voiced at different times, each of a different disorder, each unknown to the next; together—a man’s fear. Fear begets fear. Suddenly, we are running through the field of panic, getting caught in the images of daffodils. They were supposed to be blue, were they not? Suddenly you want to be held close, horribly close, together in infinity.
‘What is infinity?’ is the next question you ask.
Love (Part 2)
The man said,
love is incidental, it must be kept in a box, for infrequent use. Make sure the box is not perforated,
for love has a tendency to escape. The need for fame is higher.
Combustible feelings, are for fools. I am superior. Do not be viscous,
Lie flat on your stomach, lie absolutely still.