The light technician came in and
asked, is it supposed to be this dark?
Somewhere in Astoria, the model and the photographer
are still writing poetry, like two stars
on opposite ends of the World
I once longed for, mistakenly thinking
they were us
Now, I just long to be in my sleep
a poet again, before they take the
electrodes off of me I will
dream in darkness, or until the light
technician comes in tomorrow
to finish his work.