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