Reception

I

They tell each other, one face on the other.

There is fresh bread on the counter, dry,

the sound of things played. Provides

pieces in a row - hands like earth,

nails cut close to the flesh.

The stories decomposed into contours

short circuit. For the

glass only the shapes look real

of t-shirts made in china.

How to say host location?

The sky weighs down on everyone, they slip

from T-shirts to bodies.

II

Talk, listen: we enter, we buy

two kilos of bread – talk, feel

the warm hands, the geological eyes. Looks

a crossing, we in the morning alone

from the counter to the glass to the street…

The rods translucent through the glass

are branches – and the wind

open them, close them.

III

The name starts with a and ends with h

it sounds like a hot thing, of yeast

and it's true – the distance is less

between products than ethnicity. The thing explodes.

The wind compresses everyone,

it ends with h, like a breath.

IV

We look like snakes, curves, mixed tongues.

We pass through an imaginary place.

It's a challenge, like the boy in the fable

he hid the fox between his armpit and his side.

The sky weighs down on everyone, solitude explodes.

The surrounding area is real – the snakes are just the sound.