Dreams settle
without emblems or dates,
adult arithmetic mistakes,
where sequences follow sequences
that spiral deeper than Marianas trench

and higher than Mount Everest,
in frontiers with no boundaries,
in cities where mansions
are dangling-modifier
examples in some grammar notebook.

Reason is a derivate, traded
in stock markets,
art a pack of cigarettes,
and where there’s no news
except routine gossips
of movie stars, politicians,
terrorists and genocides,

where traffic grows
like some kind of bacterial culture,
code coolies stroke
Eiffel Tower egos,
and drink Cuba and Spain
under tarpaulins of Ithaca.

Copyright ©2007, Debashish Haar