The sleeper, real and dear, is carved on the dark.
Minerals of sleep are travelling into him.
Travelling out of him.
Signal leps in his wrist.
Caught to me, caught to my nerve.
·
The sleeper, real and dear, is carved on the dark.
Minerals of sleep are travelling into him.
Travelling out of him.
Signal leps in his wrist.
Caught to me, caught to my nerve.
“What does she care for the atom bomb, the bed bugs, the cancer rent, Friendly Finance waiting to repossess her delinquent flesh… Sweet dreams, Pantopon Rose.”
William S. Burroughs | Naked Lunch