A pleasure whose origin is to be placed outside us and in objects whose presence we cannot be sure of; a pleasure therefore that is precarious in itself, undermined by the fear of loss. —Michel Foucault I search for you in the city I search for you in the city, scan each face I pass, note each tree scan each face I pass, note each tree. I scan for you in the pass, note each city; I search each face in the tree. The bright shop window you’ll see, the bright shop window you’ll see with her: it’s strange that you’re so close with her: it’s strange that you’re so close The bright, her window; strange that you’ll close with its shop: see that you’re so. When it grows dark: the streets when it grows dark; the streets are a mass of bodies, lights and cars are a mass of bodies lights and cars. When the bodies a-mass, dark cars are it: the streets of grows and lights. You exist somewhere without; you exist somewhere without me in the heaving mess: me in the heaving mess. Me somewhere. Exist heaving. You in the mess without. I stop to buy a newspaper; I stop to buy a newspaper. Long columns of words remind me; long columns of words remind me. Me? I long to column a newspaper, stop to remind: buy of words. Long, striped fields outside Vienna, long striped fields outside Vienna; seen when I flew home early, seen when I flew home early. Long seen fields when Vienna flew; I striped home (outside early). You were to follow, but then— you were to follow, but then like now, something snapped inside me: like now, something snapped inside me. You follow now to inside, like me, but then you were something snapped. I foresee you alone: I foresaw you. Strange that you’ll close seeing field, word, light; heaving field, word, light. Long seen words snap alone: I am the fields that you light.