The lights have been shut, I shaved myself nicely with a tiny fluffy brush.
I think everyone's down by the lake, making fun of the poor handicapped boy.
I washed the floor of the house with my face, even noticed how the strange little dots in the wood carry shapes of flying men.
All is peacefully combined with a brownish rust that comes rolling from the usual evening rain.
I have watched the flocks standing in line, trembling with fear of being preyed.
Tonight, the previously bombed lovers will embrace and old partners will lay still, drinking and laughing as the time passes.
For no one was ever able to feel this well. Floating in the quiet water. No flies or bumblebees to disturb the silence. Just a row boat sliding in a smooth and uncommon way.
