"Ride music beams back to base."

He phases out on a vector of train whistles and the one particular steel-engraved slant of winter sun these manifestations favor, leaving the faintest tang of Players Navy Cut and opening piano bars of East St. Louis, this dangerous old literary gentleman who sent so many of us out, under sealed orders, years ago ...

Inspector Lee taught a new angle - Frequencies of silence; blank walls at street level. In the flat field. We became field operators. Decoding the lattices. Patrolling the deep faults. Under the lights. Machine Dreams. The crowds, swept with con ... Shibuya Times Square Picadilly. A parked car, an arena of grass, a fountain filled with earth. In the hour of the halogen wolves ... The hour remembered. In radio silence ...

Just a chance operator in the gasoline crack of history, officer ...

Assembled word cyberspace from small and readily available components of language. Neologic spasm: the primal act of pop poetics. Preceded any concept whatever. Slick and hollow--awaiting received meaning. All I did: folded words as taught. Now other words accrete in the interstices.

"Gentlemen, that is not now nor will it ever be my concern ... "

Not what I do.

I work the angle of transit. Vectors of neon plaza, licensed consumers, acts primal and undreamed of ...

The architecture of virtual reality imagined as an accretion of dreams: tattoo parlors, shooting galleries, pinball arcades, dimly lit stalls stacked with damp-stained years of men's magazines, chili joints, premises of unlicensed denturists, of fireworks and cut bait, betting shops, sushi bars, purveyors of sexual appliances, pawnbrokers, wonton counters, love hotels, hotdog stands, tortilla factories, Chinese greengrocers, liquor stores, herbalists, chiropractors, barbers, bars.

These are dreams of commerce. Above