Cut my hair with a kitchen knife, he
was a blindfolded visionary. Everything
and nothing was going on in his precious
head, overfed on ;
Chemicals and conversation
A speeding train without a station
Crashed at my event-horizon
Feeling for the switch to turn his eyes on.
And in the news, they have to say he is a
blinfolded visionary. I scrape the clouds
of rouge from his face and he’s white as
noise.