On the beige flanks the burning
white-bricked six O' clock sun
On roof and eve's tops
water boiling by the
wind
who licks in and shifts
the walls of pure cobalt
Each of us is a
monster without fault

I will sit brooding for like half an hour
And do nothing
Like trying to ovulate into a jar
I'll blow smoke and stare at the sun
recite Russian poetry to insects
and do nothing