land see white

to maya chrusecz

the golds of 10 o’clock have broken death

burned the window in clay and gold

separate the good from water in leather squares

and the alert fish set with a pin

cook golden insect eyes

i am the bad vibration of warmth

in the beating of the striated heart

bones are also spoons for your soul

but we would rebuild

green sonorous under porcelain

sleep in the skull

and pursue the little men in their vowel

cut them off by train while the bell rings

and pursue the little men in their vowel

the little fire in the chalice

and pursue the little men in their vowel

pursue the little the little men in their vowel

Tristan Tzara