I have trapped a little wind in a box I can hear it whiz around in there And with my ear against the box I dip brushes in colours nobody's ever seen I paint the air The colours float about
Winged toads have been stored under my tongue for a while Now I let them fly And just like birds they steer towards the sky They smash against the glass roof and hail down on me As their wings fall off I must disguise myself Shall I tread beforeyou ion guise of a human Or something more complicated? An angel? Now I lap about in numberless mouth's hypothetical spit I am a word and their tasting me without really relishing me Exchanging me with greasy words Which land on their heads and melt Something spirals out of the mouth I' m in It resembles some sort of winding stairs
With a frightened wingless toad on my arm I slide on the railings and we speed up And the circles are wide and we hold on to each other in the centrifuge Wet clothes swathe us and our heads are spinning Our eyes roll round and round in our heads The toad cries out "Slow down !" and I croak And suddenly we're trapped between four walls We are in an ox caught by a little wind takes us round and round and round...