The dust is part of the city
And of love
It is scattered over a drawing
Describing an eventual death
I am succumbing to the density of stairs
Until i am tired enough
To accept that the heat 
And the sleeping around
To matter
Or to mean 
As if the The DADAists taught us nothing
As if thet just abandoned their bicycles and collages
And we said nothing in return
We really said nothing in return