The curve – soft – speaking
fast then slow
then not at all
dancing – whitewalls
jumping – up and out
and so excited
and lifted from the very top
circles
making something
nothing
built up
a humming in the ear
cause I can't laugh or sing
that I see
that I dare to see and write
as if others hadn't written before
but dressed as a savage
that does not care to lose
or fight but sing
so funny
a hit of *****
we'll see
written 18th century
like it's new
to have a little fun
in the absence of anything
truly beautiful
that I can undress
and write again
after having a light
and grass that folds over
and a room full of armor
and soft
and moving
towards an end
where I can make it silly