There are some things not spoken about,and others
that are spoken about without being things ...
That caravan parked behind the house
- when I arrive the sun shines just above it
and I see it shine
who I still don't know
as my Olivetti takes up
and at the same time
it accompanies with a corn-spike-green torrent
from which joy and reaction keep rising,
the complicity of a band
that is myself before and myself now
what I still don't know
could join us any afternoon now,
in the basement
( psychedelic pillows:
why should surrealism be
the patrimony of a single side? )
Talk to me, Nar!
- the guys told me you have this name,
sort of Shakespearean jester style ...
… Now I wonder how might your voice sound like .