a cold and porcelain lonely

in an old new york hotel

a stranger to a city

that she used to know so well

bathing in a bathroom

that is bathed in the first blue light

of the beginning of a century

at the end of an endless night



then she is wet behind the ears and wafting down the avenue

pre-rush hour

post-rain shower

stillness seeping upwards like steam

from another molten sewer

summer in new york



they've been spraying us with chemicals in our sleep

us / they

something about the mosquitoes having some kind of disease

them / me

CIA foul play

if you ask the guy selling hair dryers out of a gym bag

chemical warfare

"i'm telling you, lab rat to lab rat," he says, "that's where the truth is

at"

that's where the truth is at

that's where the truth is at



and everything seems to have gone terribly wrong that can

but one breath at a time is an acceptable plan

she tells herself

and the air is still there

and this morning it's even breathable

and for a second the relief is unbelievable

and she's a heavy sack of flour sifted

her burden lifted

she's full of clean wind for one lean moment

and then she's trapped again

reverted

caged and contorted

with no way to get free

and she's getting plenty of little kisses

but nobody's slippin' her the key



her whole life is a long list of what ifs

and she doesn't even know where to begin

and the pageantry of suffering therein

rivals television

tv is, after all, the modern day roman coliseum

human devastation as mass entertainment

and now millions sit jeering

collectively cheering

the bloodthirsty hierarchy of the patriarchal arrangement



she is hailing a cab

she is sailing down the avenue

she's 19 going on 30

or maybe she's really 30 now ...

it's hard to say

it's hard to keep up with time once it's on its way



and, you know, she never had much of a chance

born into a family built like an avalanche

and somewhere in the 80s between the oat bran and the ozone

she started to figure out things like why

one eye pointed upwards looking for the holes in the sky

one eye on the little flashing red light

a picasso face twisted and listing down the canvas

of the end of an endless night



10 9 8 seven six 5 4 three 2 one

and kerplooey

you're done.

you're done for.

you're done for good.

so tell me

did you?

did you do

did you do all you could