In the apartment in the City where i was We, it starts.
We taste hands that might as well be Ours. We speak in tongues that only We can grok. In the apartment where all light through windows cast brick-red and down to dirty shag, We, watched by only mechanical-nanny i, play mirror games, raise hand to hand, close i to reflected closed i see.
In the apartment in the City where i was We, there is only this: popcorn plaster yellowed; night father crocked and groggy-high; air-thin voices of child tenement ghosts through dropceilings , tile floors. But We, We is song and dance enough for Us, onebody waltz, foxtrot and jig and tap, while drunk-i father sings and We, We giggle up in onevoice We.
