I’m waking. I am awake. I’ve sown the seeds. I reap the harvest of daily disease. Three souls leave this room tonight. I’m waking to mornings of bitter coffee (I’ll just drop two sugars) bitter disease. Thoughts of bitterness and disease that clamp clasp and close the soul tight – tight like the rope, the ropes that pull our college flags high above our cities. Cities infected with fear and concern limp and weak like bloody mucus seeping through the table top. I’ll tell you again, life’s taught me the importance of selective memory taught me that remembering to forget is on my list of things-to-do like laundry. What about the prescriptive drugs that sit on the tip of my tongue, in or out uncertainty? I hate indecision. Powerlessness is everywhere in parlours, in bank houses and now on park benches. Listen. I’m waking. Yes I'm awake to latch-key kids and their one-minute heroes. Here goes, throw yourself into school corridors and witness incomplete workbooks, lonesome desks, absent flipcharts – minds forging their way through what’s not on the curriculum. Wake up! Three souls leave this room tonight. Why fear pain – that strain to stretch the rope that will divide your world from mine. Fine. Ok. If it’s rope and the soul you speak of
Rope, to get rid of soul
To get rid of soul, rope
Rid of rope to get soul
Get soul rid of rope to
Rope, rid of soul to get
Soul, to get rid of rope
To get rid of rope, soul
Rid of soul to get rope
Get rope rid of soul to
Soul, rid of rope to get

Ok Ok If it’s this we speak of tie me to my soul with rope. How can I? It left two hours ago along with the hopeless. Why to wander the streets of New York alone piss-fights jello ellis island city cops and fists. It’s probably on its way now from taxi to backalley. Three souls leave this room tonight. Yeah mine left early.

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