18 Dec 98 | A pearl; white sheet of paper with patches; runaway trains: An investigation

Look at this bleak mountain and taste its shadow falling over your hairy chest.
This is the white distemper wall,
you clean twice whenever your shadow stretch out as the sun sets.
This is the plastic bag sprinkler and your golden blue plants,
smelling of your girlfriend’s underarms.
      And this is the place, where you stand,
where the world exists.
                                   You are not what you seem.
You are not what you were.
Tell us every thing.
Tell every thing you know about.
Tell, finally, where were you last night.