many have been dissembled under eaves
between basins the frost the rain
the stink have finished the rest
about him
they said he had moulded God
into 3 scrap-windows, but he couldn’t
wash them in time

he used to forget bats at every lover
but marvellously baked bony cakes
from his ankles – now and then even
pig’s trotters
finally
it was pitch dark
the soul dashed
whizzing out of his chin…as from
a Holy Editorial

still in dispute: was it a clerk’s or a
princess’s soul – you know
those 7.2mm ones!