I waited all this time, for this?

What dream did I have last night, that you were so angry but so sexy and all covered in lightning?
And why were you crying when you had so many jokes to tell?

I was lost in a room with no walls,
and a blind man singing to me of all the trouble he'd seen,
which made no sense,
but who am I to question?
Which is an excellent question,
in of
itself.
And whilst we're on the subject,
why is the sky blue?
Is it a giant painting,
or the refraction of light waves through hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and whatwasthequestionagain?

I'm listening to that song you used to love,
the one with all the lyrics about sorrow and joy,
you know,
that instrumental one?
What was it called?
Oh, yes, you're right.
That wasn't a song. It was a movie.

And now I am smoking a cigarette that simply won't light,
and standing in a beautifully warm breeze,
the night
sky spitting diamonds
in my
eyes.
And she never had the time to tell me what time it really was,
so I always had to guess,
and I was always almost wrong,
but never nearly right.
Good.
Night.