t to themselves:

  ting for tness of t cyclists.

  t to themselves:

  ting th of a boy on a japanese schooner.

  t to themselves-

  dreaming of the open beaks of dying birds,

  t punctures

  a recently flattened toad,

  beneathousand ears

  and tiny mouter

  in t resist

  t attack on the moon.

  ts were breaking

  in anguisness and vigilance of all things,

  and because of tprints,

  obscure names, saliva, and cill crying.

  it doesnt matter if t pin,

  or if ted in cupped cotton flowers,

  because tual sailors he

  arches and

  freeze you from berees.

  its useless to look for the bend

  s way

  and to in ambus has no

  to clotears,

  because even tiny banquet of a spider

  is enougo upset tire equilibrium of the sky.

  the moaning from a japanese schooner,

  nor for tumble on the curbs.

  tryside bites its oail in order to gats

  and a ball of ya looks anxiously in tude.

  the ocean liners!

  facades of urine, of smoke, anemones, rubber gloves.

  everyttered in t

  t spread its legs on terraces.

  everytter in tepid faucets

  of a terrible silent fountain.

  oh, crowds! loose women! soldiers!

  e s,

  open country whe docile cobras, coiled like wire, hiss,

  landscapes full of graves t yield t apples,

  so t uncontrollable light will arrive

  to frigheir magnifying glasses-

  t-

  and so t fire ill able to piss around a moan

  or on tals in ood.