they parcel out bread to the poor
string beads for the blind
the emperors take a walk in the parks this hour that's about as bitter as an engraving
servants bathe the hounds
the light puts on gloves
consequently shut the window
put out the light like an apricot pit gets spit out
like a priest from his church
good god: weave soft wool for melancholy lovers
dip little birds in ink and renew the picture on the moon
— let's catch beetles
and stick them in a box
— let's go to the river
and make clay jugs
— let's hug
beside the fountain
— let's go to the public park
and not stop till the cock crows
and the town's outraged
or in the granary
the hay pricks we hear cows moo
as they keep after their little ones
let's get to it