This my stuff is all over yard, in the hollow of  my mind
Under ever expanding sky and the dusty trees nodding.

In the train it is all over my seat, below it and above me,
As an inventory of stars twinkles down from sky to train.

A singing boy , eyes blinking in blindness, has his pearly
Oyster shells for announcing an eye-witness and music.

His inventory is useful repertoire of heart rending songs.
I cannot keep inventory of the contents of the night sky.

Oh ,what I can pick up from the weekly bazaar’s shops,
And what numbers keep for me in a far off cheese land .

But the many-digit numbers are so difficult to memorize.
I lose them on a foggy night , when I fuck off from here.

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