a cold and porcelain lonely

in an old new york hotel

a stranger to a city 

that she used to know so well

bathing in a bathroom

that is bathed in the first blue light

of the beginning of a century

at the end of an endless night



then she is wet behind the ears and wafting down the avenue

pre-rush hour 

post-rain shower

stillness seeping upwards like steam 

from another molten sewer 

summer in new york 



they've been spraying us with chemicals in our sleep 

us / they 

something about the mosquitoes having some kind of disease 

them / me 

CIA foul play 

if you ask the guy selling hair dryers out of a gym bag

chemical warfare 

"i'm telling you, lab rat to lab rat," he says, "that's where the truth is at"

that's where the truth is at 

that's where the truth is at 



and everything seems to have gone terribly wrong that can

but one breath at a time is an acceptable plan 

she tells herself

and the air is still there 

and this morning it's even breathable 

and for a second the relief is unbelievable 

and she's a heavy sack of flour sifted 

her burden lifted 

she's full of clean wind for one lean moment 

and then she's trapped again 

reverted

caged and contorted 

with no way to get free 

and she's getting plenty of little kisses 

but nobody's slippin' her the key



her whole life is a long list of what ifs 

and she doesn't even know where to begin 

and the pageantry of suffering therein 

rivals television

tv is, after all, the modern day roman coliseum 

human devastation as mass entertainment 

and now millions sit jeering

collectively cheering 

the bloodthirsty hierarchy of the patriarchal arrangement 



she is hailing a cab

she is sailing down the avenue 

she's 19 going on 30 

or maybe she's really 30 now ...

it's hard to say 

it's hard to keep up with time once it's on its way



and, you know, she never had much of a chance 

born into a family built like an avalanche 

and somewhere in the 80s between the oat bran and the ozone 

she started to figure out things like why 

one eye pointed upwards looking for the holes in the sky 

one eye on the little flashing red light 

a picasso face twisted and listing down the canvas 

of the end of an endless night



10 9 8 seven six 5 4 three 2 one

and kerplooey 

you're done. 

you're done for. 

you're done for good.

so tell me 

did you?

did you do 

did you do all you could ?