He rings for a connection -
but a click on the line; he knows then
he won't be going anywhere,
hangs up: the internal police
are on his case.
Tries from a call box, a lull in traffic,
and asks again,
'The department of dreams'.
Amongst the cars images clear
the phone box walls a tunnel
where the traffic of seeing shifts gear:
it's difficult getting a clear line
through party lines, conference calls,
so hangs up, goes for a Starbucks.
And wonders,
maybe he did get through:
you know when something full
that was hungry before,
something learned
that was missing.
And hopes that this time
he has the encryption codes.
Is it worth the effort? It's just what
he does, he concludes again.
He has bills to pay, and a willing client
who wants the inside deal
on a far-away spouse, and the astral plane
is the only way: the lucid dream,
the psychic's overview,
and a reputation to minister to.
