You've got some mail sarcastic birds on the wooden shelf
five envelopes for the same word
no there's nothing about love in between
please change the channel this rain as well
my hayfever became a poem how sad like the bulbs
in the bathroom no lights just the skin of the bulbs
making war/love on the ceiling

you're the american dream don't call it baby
this eye of yours a kind of lost joy
ask me if I can paint
trouble in my bitter bones
our name is Janis Janis
and then you can cry baby I'll smell
the herbs in Mirbeau's torture
garden

you may fuck all the gods
cancel the very moment when I'll crave
for an useless death
give me a certain age like a present for being
such a good boy
either mother or whore
either grey or tiger

this is a theory about two legs
fallin' for the moon
venus and
other words
for the space which is I