| | The Art of Living Dangerously in the 2oth Century
Twightlight, twighlight, send me word
memory fade, a final chord
Cuts me off, a shining sword
Living is its own reward
A spider's web
with holes a curious child has poked
screaming as the arachnid chases after the
clinging thread
I want to write like that child feels
this poem will kill me before I kill it - just watch
Los Angeles is more alien to me than Katmandu
8 lane freeways and 100,000 gang members and
15 million people
In the Spring I will sacrifice myself because
the new gods demand it
I try to think of the dead people I know
I can't remember names
only tones of voices and half-remembered
shapes of faces like the woman on the moon
Silky hair piled off the neck
tendrils and wisps of lost or escaped strands
Underwater spirilina cut loos
A voice like Rachel in Ridley Scott's Blade Runner
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