Dirty windows glancing with br impudence upon the street. Inside I br suspect there are dirty people living br their mangled lives. Checking each br other for fleas and lice; scratching their br groins with casual indifference. The men br sit around in their underwear collecting br vulgar metaphors to throw upon their br kids. The women hide in their br basements eating chocolate cakes br by the ton. The children are angry br young voices that filter their angst br upon the school systems. br br This is the real world. br br Fickle signs that indicate the passage br of the world. 'Buy me'! The neon br lights will flicker in endless patterns of br happy delight. Computer screens blinking br on and off reminding dirty people of the filth br that is readily available. People sitting, br staring like glass eyed morons in front of br their television sets. Creaking bones that br are allied with cobweb minds that utter br mis-spelled definitions of the news of the br earth. br br This is the real loss. br br Growing dissension that lies like guilt br buried in a box by the front door. Open br the tomb and enter in. The grasping br hands reach up and pull you to your death. br I believe that golden showers only arrive br after the dirty windows have been cleaned. br br But they never are clean. Each morning a new br stench of defeat is grimed upon the freshly br painted glass. We are certain only of nothing, br and everything we believe has been modified br by the screens that continue to blink on and off. br br Craziness is the only excuse. Therefore the people br must shut their doors and draw their drapes br to avoid the reality of their sins. I suspect br that after dark they will murder one another br in their sleep.br br Chris G.