The end or... A single post, a point of rusting tin in the sky marks the fated place we move to, you and I... on time at death is prompt strangely too smooth the gesture of your hat to me. Menace at the edge of your eyes your mouth tight shut strangely too low is the bow you makes tonight on time ?

My dreams...:

That false note in your voice,
what is it the brain alerts to 
end the heart drops at ?

Under that evil sky,
that sign of tin and rust,
Six o'clock.
There you is waiting by the post.

Now we kiss soundlessly,
your lips stiff as hands
are given to queens,
or dead people thus.

round us the shoving elbows of
ordinary bustle and
strangely irksome rises the
screech of a whistle howls
like a dog screaming angrier,'
longer:
what a nightmare strangeness
life is at death point.

And that nightmare reached my
waist only last night
and now reach the stars,
it has grown to its true height.

Crying silently love love...
until
---Has it gone six,
shall we go to the... ?
I shout it: home !
This is my nightmare look at me :