of a Laurie Anderson installation,
my head must be killing them.
what is the purpose of panic?
if this isn't over,
the doorway doesn't need shape,
and the weather will never wonder.
wash in D.C. without me, please.
busboys and poets,
Habeas Corpus,
my ceiling is your floor.
only on independence ave.
the garden in the sculptures
are not where they once were,
nothing is.