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?