Her attractive pain, just like Catwoman,
gets me where I live,
puts me where I get more and more inclined to be, in a
dreamworld, plotting rescues I never attempt from perils I
suspect I'm projecting.
Crazy woman on Fifth Avenue shouts, I think I'm gonna cry!
I think I'm a homosexual!
Her attractive pain, I must rush to lock myself inside my home laboratory
to project, scribble in notebooks, act kooky in glasses,
tinker with formulae.
The calendar flutters and time gets sucked offscreen.
Enduring rivals, sweating paranoia, caffeine jags of self-rejection,
self-disgust at caring, caring deeply, always going in circles,
always seeing progress,
the mad science of crushes.