I walk very quickly rushing my footprints
towards their reincarnation cycle

it seems that on a sunny afternoon the mirrors
left behind my boozy cold breath
under the dome of the leafless trees

I heap the eyes on the destructive mimicry
of the plastic people
the strings pull me to a distorted space
where bright silhouettes increase the distance
between my heels and ground
and the moment reaches
the perfection

***

“don’t help me!” - said I to the angels
“and please smoke from this joint called
music”

***

far behind - a fussy shape
in the middle of a liquid
grey circle