a cyclist swerves
pig´s head balanced between the handle bars
in my ear music compositions
that i cannot hear
my bits do not fit together
it was between night and the morning
in the grey hours
colour seeping in ever so slowly
i repeat
my bits do not fit together
there is a waterwheel in cordoba
squeaking and sloshing
my various IDs
floating like embryos pickled in formaldehyde
there are expanses of wheat
screams, lists, currencies
but please don´t listen
nor worry your sweet head
concerning the tentative articulations of a small boy
shouts, brine, juxtaposition
failed states, laughter, drambuie
a day late
a dollar short
my bits don´t fit together
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