The furnace in the space between is something like a
familiar machine that's based floors underneath the ground
and churns and churns and churns.
See the glow from way up here and it burns and tells
me why everything has to stay so fuzz edged oil paint.
Cutting up live objects.
Express trains go. Slipping through the dreaming door
and listening to my heart beat through the mattress
through pillow, through the pillowcase and
it goes without me wanting it to. Throbbing like the leaves
on the orange skin trees in ugly sunlight. If there were
sunglasses for a heart, hearts would wear them.
Overcome with
mute.
Came across the seas to... mute.
Go down and come home
to the place where no thing and no one is learned.
Everything is known and still new in dreamland.
Ears are burning. Ears are burning! Sex parts. Make up.
Constitutions and make up. Break a heart once, shame.
Break a heart twice, shame. Don't be silly.
Ice packs and jet assisted take off. Ears are burning
and if it's okay or not
is up in the air.
