untitled by anonymous

split you drunk
to make air this journey
A piece of bread door sawed
caught another glass
of the capital
of mother sack hunger
of hunger.

with a shaking needle hand,
cover at your shy offer -
men's and not God's.

this mist to deter you
this hard rain murmured
our material origin

rain weight is innocent
of the Old Man hungrily lit:
one arm with a letter, the other bent open.

Of curve course I have the wind. The boat.
A rich valley -
in what year?