Nick@Nite on my Stucco Ceiling at 2 a.m. Tuesday

Milk pours through my synapses like balmy steam-rain

My mind is lilac-basted, caked with sand

“Hello” – so suddenly shy when the somber people shuffle by

Orange street, Brown sea, doesn’t really mean much to me

I’ve got my empty headed glee: A terror to make the knowing flee

And so I shout!–Damn, there’s the credits. Gone is the vision.

Shit. can’t sleep