from inside the windows, the city is safe. the walls shrink at a normal pace. the ceilings are comfortably within reach , but we don't ever touch. the voices all over the computer retain auricular anonymity.
the lights turn various shades, predictably. this is how the days ought to go out there. funny, how enclosure can order things. how the simple structure of walls can relieve disarray. can send chaos barreling off into its remote regions of curlicues and bendables. as if chaos, itself, relies on street lights and sirens and settling stars, itself diffused and scattered under the engine city light of downtowns.
so chaos is out there somewhere. everywhere. it doesn't listen to john lee hooker. it doesn't read children's poems. it can't think this clearly with wine. and it certainly doesn't go without sleep for days, this successfully.
chaos has a lot to learn about productivity. and clarity. and epiphany.
but not about poems. i don't care what anyone says. entropy and chaos have poems on lock.