It’s so restful having loves in different countries. All because of poetry, keeping
the dialectic alive. When I met you you were packing confectionary of medium
quality, now you’re making a house out of the nicest paper you can find. All hands

To the keyboard, let the notes storm towards the sky. Anthems, anthems, where
the money goes is not our fault. There is nothing to be strident about: the more
that comes out the funnel, the more we shrink. I want to come to your gallery

By boat from Fitzroy. I would be in Gothenberg, at the risk of further attachment,
writing further books. There’s little hair on my back: a little on my lower back,
I already told the customs officer: come to me. Don’t be bothered by the distance.