Those times I want to write something but I don’t know what. I only write then. Writing for writing. Like now. Wow. What can I say. Hey. I’m on my way. Totally full. Eating all day. Because of the pills. I’m taking. No shaking. But eating, eating, eating.

I will blow like an air balloon. I’m in my home saloon. ALOON. So lonely. But not. I have everything here I need for myself. A book shelf. I could read. But where does that lead. I would get some more knowledge. I have enough on my head. No concentration for reading.

Breeding. I am breeding some texts here maybe. Better idea. Lazy gear. Dumb dumb dumb. Knock knock at my head. Shall I go to bed. I don’t know. Where can I go. Smoking ciga – rette. Sicker rat. Play with words. Not with hearts. Well it hurts. Not that much.



for the fall

dans ma cuisine
qu’es q’on preparer
pour mes pralines
je t’aime ma petite chocolatier

this is all wrong
cause I don’t know French
language at all
it sounds good
they have so many rhymes
I have so many crimes
but this is nice food

little chocolate drops and tears
what the church bell hears
sitting at my windows
those the sweet wind blows

little life through