t to themselves:

        ting for tness of t cyclists.

        t to themselves:

        ting th of a boy on a Japanese ser.

        t to themselves-

        dreaming of the open beaks of dying birds,

        t punctures

        a retly flatteoad,

        behousand ears

        and tiny mouter

        in t resist

        t atta the moon.

        ts were breaking

        in anguisness and vigilance of all things,

        and because of tprints,

        obscure names, saliva, and cill g.

        It doesnt matter if t    pin,

        or if ted in cupped cotton flowers,

        because tual sailors he

        arches and

        freeze you from berees.

        Its useless to look for the bend

        s way

        and to    in ambus has no

        torn clotears,

        because even tiny ba of a spider

        is enougo upset tire equilibrium of the sky.

        the moaning from a Japanese ser,

        nor for tumble on the curbs.

        tryside bites its oail in order to gats

        and a ball of yarn looks anxiously in tude.

        the o liners!

        Facades of urine, of smoke, anemones, rubber gloves.

        Everyttered in t

        t spread its legs on terraces.

        Everytter in tepid faucets

        of a terrible silent fountain.

        Oh, crowds! Loose women! Soldiers!

        e s,

        open try whe docile cobras, coiled like wire, hiss,

        landscapes full of graves t yield t apples,

        so t untrollable light will arrive

        their magnifying glasses-

        t-

        and so t fire ill able to piss around a moan

        or on tals in ood.
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