Another day
another city

filled with
more people
more buildings
more cars
more madness

all glimpsed through the windows
of this spy’s grey hungover eyes

It could be
London,
Beijing,
Moscow or Rome

It doesn’t matter at all

Everywhere is the same
when the Mind is lost
in this crowded mind –

alive
yet dead
to all of these forms –

shaped by the light
of plastic perceptions
and stained by the smog
of an impulsive desire
to understand all of these things
which can never be understood

either today
or on any other day

in this phantom city
which neither exists nor does not exist

as it passes through me and I pass through it