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the ant trails running discourses to the edge of the ocean
fabulous planes crash in millennial colours across wide deserts
the girl in the black jeans knocks the wineglasses spinning
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the goat herd leads the beards into the yellow stone temple
a new computer sucks air in an empty room calculating infinity
the truth is incompatible with the truth: a light-speed time bomb
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the bicycle is dragged from the river dressed with dark reeds
all through the city a fine mist of snow is falling on parked cars
an overture is recorded in the lineaments of her tired hands
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a curse is unrolling like a cloud over succulent stinging trees
the heat is rising in the refrigerator - but all this is passing
last night the poet floated high above a clear lake in a strange land
the poet always floats in dreams, as a balloon on a cut string, free to-
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