Insomnia-Artists

my old friends are asleep, sucking on dreams of national neurosis and taxi cabs nostalgic of cobble stoned streets- in the club somebody jokes about a white bear and his frozen beach. we're sitting on jellyfish dying the seas purple bruises of the clean sky bleeding- meeting pastel umbrellas and toy flamingos. and every scientist of our tribe wants hearty breasts and pin legs bending like wet cardboard on a wire fence- sticking their beaks between a culture's stomach and mother's hair. this pale sort of dust stirs in a hallway with floors seeming to tilt and sink, no sound but parts moving and heads rolling. in t