THAT LITTLE CLOUD
I am drinking the vapor of all
this illusion - things alter and
fade along their ways. The wall
marked in red is the wall marked
in blue; exits and entrances too.
-
Outside my lazing window, there
is nothing underway. The scudding
river coughs now its traffic and the
guttural sounds of dockside commerce
commence, while I sit here wrapping
old newspapers in string.
-
Where I will go with all this, aye!
that's the thing. The world is already
overflowing with matters of the hand.
Why need I add to any of that?
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