clapping words together
she said, she could read me, through and through.
said, my hair rough and dry, read like a derailed train,
going swiftly towards neverland.
words which spell visions, which need not be seen,
a garden with white grass,
a turbine which loves to move,
here nothing leads to nothing.
hiding behind a wall
I am too tall, too small
starting a five minute relay atop a cube of ice,
lies which sound natural,
people with nothing to shop
nothing to wish
walking empty on the streets, tasting the wind again.