dave palmer's "Sunday Morning"

hashish still tickling our brains
we walk down the midnight sidewalk
shadows of empty cars crawl across the street
streetlights rip thru the darkness
darkness rips thru the sky
and i wonder

	"why doesn't she love me when she's sober?"
	"tell you this, you never get what you want & you never want
	what you get."
	"i don't know; i guess the summer's over."
	"yeah..."
	"i mean, i'm the only guy who has any respect for her---"
	"well, you got that right."
	"---i mean, i'm the only one who has any respect for her, but
	she doesn't have any respect for me."
	"well, that's human relationships for you."
	"i love her.  but... i don't know, i just wish it was still
	summer."
	"yeah.  cold as hell."

my companion now retired to his home
i am alone & yet not
a distant building seems a challenge
and i must hear the call
the fire escape leads to the roof
the first landing is fifteen feet up
if i stood on the fence and jumped i could reach it
success! and now i lie face down on the landing
regaining my breath i begin the ascent
suddenly a frenzied mechanical scream
quickly i slide back down to the street
and walk away, a paranoid red glow crawling up my back
like a bolt from a laser gun in some cheap sci-fi flick
discarded on the street i find a pamphlet
GOD'S LAW IS A SERPENT! IT WILL BITE YOU!
hastily i return to home & late-nite tv

shanti tho i love you i don't need you
and i wonder

i will await the dawn with or without you

by Dave Palmer, arxt@quads.uchicago.edu