special night

 

 

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

 

sold

  • (will not be published)