stars spinning around

the trees and the tent

bonfire flames growing

upwards with legs


twisting and shoes

kicking a basket of mushrooms

silenced inside the mouth

word-endings scatter


a hundred seas rumble in my head

somebody hits a drum in the distance

or is it the wind only nestling

between the pines of the forest


a salty taste in my throat

scratching the kettle’s bottom

why in the seven hells  were there

fly agaric in my soup?




61×86 cm



  • (will not be published)