ash falls like snow. dusting me. lying in the middle of the highway. staring up at the stars. counting the stars. connecting the dots. dreaming of a place even colder than here. ice forms on my eyelashes and the snow continues to fall. gray and warm.
i close my eyes and i see the planes hit the world trade center. i close my eyes and i see marilyn curled up alone and dying. i close my eyes and i see nothing. its better this way. i reach out and touch air. its better this way. time unreels like film. and i can hardly move.
i have become norma desmond. what a fag. that makes me laugh and i go back to connecting the dots. disconnecting the thoughts. discolouring by number.