the mc-squared think tank

murmurous.

in my dream i'm riding that bike i always wanted

("always" equating to last month.)

it's dusk

and an electric blue horizon lies low over the deep green grass.

"he and i have hope," i conclude. "just different types."

murmurous like overconfident psychologists

my friends are projections of american psychos.

i look at our shadows

and see only a silhouette of tippi hedren.

these friends

follow me down the immutable lane

while i wait for night,

for morning,

for a different time.

comprehension.

you're dependent on continuity

while i seek change.