matt's chinatown, manhattan. 3/09
the diamond sharp night eyes of old have returned. i can stay up all night. forever again. broken sneakers slap comfortingly block crosswalk block crosswalk block corner block. night guard is familiar. waves a familiar hand. and the few dreams i have in the few hours of sleep connect with where the night left off. it takes hours in the morning to separate them from what happened-
when i recall that he turned into a dog and ran home with me, or that she was made of terra cotta. the oh-wait, the that can't happen: that must have been where the real stopped. thank god we know. thank god this is the sort of loopy that i welcome.
the kind of happiness that could drive a person completely insane.
the kind of interest that could keep me listening to your words until i died of exhaustion and a gigantic otherworldly hemorrhage of knowledge and the sounds of the ecstatic
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