Once upon a time a trollop hid
a brick within a brick, a tree
within a tree, a ghost within
a ghost, a monstrous wave within a grain of sand, a seagull
inside her mouth, and a crab
The city doesn’t know.
Each day someone invents a means to record their dreams on the riverbed.
There is an endless party going on,
everyone feels happy like an idiot,
musicians die in elevators watching their flesh disappear in the booze they have consumed.
Retired generals imbibe tequila looted on Mars out of radios and lampshades
and blow their noses into ancient curtains. They have a cannon
which can destroy a horde of spirits even if they whisper all at once into your ears
too many stories to take in. It has been never used.

Wings never touch leaves and needles,
they are only forms of noise.
Insects learn to swim in the distant oceans
that belong to ancient drunkards.
Water can make a lizard out of my tongue,
air can feed musicians that keep losing their fingers,
fire can manicure heavenly throngs on a daily basis,
you can drown herons in Chinese teapots,
the amount of booze always remains the same.