Mouths, that yesterday spread into a thoughtless smile, today will tighten into a round curl. The night-black tar of the cosmos flows along the cheeks, and thin summer clothes suck it up like blotting paper.

The crumbling walls expose the dark, the disgusting infinifty, like a television without a remote, without sound, without antennas. Without a reflection, where you can select your red mouth, your lips which will pinch into hatred.

Translated by M.O.Beitiks