.

I had a dream that you were listening,
listening the way you always did for
what you wanted to hear, so not really,
and as a consequence, I typed my poem
directly onto your lips, fed them through
an old classic Underwood and pushed
really hard, thinking then you'd have to
feel the impact of my words, but on you
they turned into cipher keys that printed
encryptions, although not for the purpose
of diplomatic correspondance ie. the
British equivalent of the German Enigma
Machine, and didn't that conjure a very
interesting visual image (that you
appropriated in a Burroughs cut-up
machine kind of way and then claimed
as your own), but again, your relentless
point was made that my writing invites
a rather wierd analysis, so, it was
exactly then that I chose to wake up,
to crack your code and start the day
fresh without any residual doubt or
cynicism.

I much prefer the dreams of flight.

unencumbered.