Despite my urgent need to tap into something
that is necessary for my time, I am left with a vision
of numbers. My pagan blood and sleeping moments
on the beach. Why do I still want to be Jimmy Buffett? 

Idle and brutal from all eternity, like Rimbaud, sitting
on a park bench with my two best friends.

The wind blowing. The day glowing. The moment in love
with every other moment that has ever existed. 

Three daydreamers, no older than five, gazing at the one
thing which interests them most.

What are your thoughts?