• Emerged away from your straw hair to runaways with the winds
    Of which lacks the origin and the mother
    So shall become abandoned - this abandoned harbor, fly away, them gulls,
    far away
    My mount by mount burnts on my arms
    Are not what you could ever carry
    and them wounds where from my spirit flows away wildly like from a glass
    and since when had stayed constant a spirit in a glass
    Because no one would be able to read that
    ticking tocking exploding
    alphabet
    its hand always pointing red, that clock on the wall again
    Introduces itself like a mother
    and leaves away like a father
    my dozens of desires, pouring some water after them

    What's called a page is actually a feeling

    long live the non-crying typewriter factories
    yet long live more the shapeless and meaningless ink boxes