THE WARM FEET START WALKING

with opened mouth, soft lips to look at the turquoise and at theholes, in which the lizzards disappear, in the evenings they urgefor the light,for the solitaryly hanging bulb, many a life of a colourful mothmelts on the glass. The beautiful butterfly becomes ugly, any timethe ugly lizzard also will become beautifulon the hot ground in the room high above the Ganges, thewashed feet get dry while going, the wet imprints get pale. Threethrushs sit on the wall with the same direction of watching.Still two. Still one. No oneouter edges of the feet, balls, toes one at the other. Theroundness of heels. Arch. To sink in and raise. Uglybecomes beautiful. Beautiful becomes ugly. Ring adornedtoes, red nails. Callous to stand and move. Limeblossoms. Marihuana to smoke. His feet to kiss. Tostrech and to bend. To bow. And to go. To go away. Tostay. To stay. Only the backsides of the heels touch thefloor. Arms crossed behind the head. Breast stands above theshirt. Heat stands in the room. Also the house has soaked it up.Saturated each stone on the ground. Colour flakes offthe wall. You touch me. Where is everywhere. Just not togive in such quickly. Further. Further. Heartbeat calms down.Flying is great. Time makes a break. Imprints in clay