Cold heated manifests approbate righteousness in a box
labelled and closed for nobody to see again, ever
and if nobody ever does see it again, then it
may no longer exist but be more effective
in a state of nihilist ecstasy
Rolling in that dust churning down the corridor
the family gathered around the table and
the loudest voice, the one that you would not dare to argue with
forthright in its urgency
definite in decree
the forces that make you do things you can not question
this vast arena of doubt
Happy plaything
little drifting candle
summer is the only candidate
she is sliding behind the scenery
keeping those backstage
warmly content and ripe
She offers herself to the breeze
places her hand thus and thus
looks left, glances right,
extends her entire foot
and the camera tells lies
to make our eyes hungry