glazing his buns with a sunbeam
and right now he’s making a belt
from the tail he tore off the devil
And all this got him a meeting with Saint Vitus’ dance
at the foot of a spiral staircase
where it rains and is fair
like a little bird on a decent person’s hat
That’s why I don’t have a hat
That’s also why lice
detest the mirrors
I’ve made out of my eyes
as the rain and the horse
have made the horseshoe
There’s scarcely anything except hotel room wallpaper
that couldn’t do the same
It’s true that times are hard
they could blame my tail
and not worry about grains of sand
that turn up quite often in grapes
It’s a mistake
because from these comes the Sahara desert
and several others