Throw songs in dry sand

or fight  mount Washington.

Image a parrotís tongue and

fingers leaf five at once:

thatís at least four lost

and thereís no saliva


at all


the corridor tiles a chair

wheels a common nut

to the local john

one hand over the above

since heís naked.

Saliva? On the verge.


A cig outside.


Whereís the paper?

No notes nor lyrics

yet they sing omm as I

see the inhaled yard

to climb the stairs again.


Yet thereís a sink in my room,


pencils and whatís on the news

or draw another face

mask on your life

dreams which are guessed

and where Iíll be long


for sure