here we are – i and i and all the others – on a platform of fog and the display says someone says that someone says (though how anyone can read it who can say or also read) the next one’s in nineteen
mad tichalak’s had a
heart attack and it’s dropped its dissertation
here we are
– the siffleux and the zazarappi – in a digital display and the conductor says
(though no one’s seen one here for ninety years) get out of there you bagbags
mad tochalok talks
like a cuckold cock and its tresis theel is pipping
here we are
– she and him and none and them and it – in a concession stand in big mister chew
big fudges and we waiters munch in terpen time and the next one’s in nineteen
mad tackulik drops its
cited dick in a faculty of footnotes
here we are
– you if you weren’t in manufacture – on judgments so poorly engineered the
conductor calls committees in geneva twaddling in its claptraps
mad tuckuluk on knees
and hands groping for its chakras
here we are
– and why are they still counting – on platforms of babbleuffionalities and it’s
way way past nineteen and the conductor’s drunk and dead and we’ve eaten all
the fudgy siffleux
mad techelek’s become
a wreck of nanocons and oxyoughtens and drops its conurbations
here we are
– i and why and weren’t and it and some remnant zazarappi – nineteen and the
conductor gone – we’ve reached the dream and per the texts the dream’s the one
inside it
