Unslide the door，

    uncap the lazy little coffee cup.

    The pasty people must be part of the dinner.

    And a city turns its incapacity in，

    foolish city. She was naked

    and her halo all crushed against

    the pillow while she slept， but I

    didn‘t care. Wake and totter.

    Place a hand over your mouth，

    a hand over another.

    A killing pain， a bag all organized，

    an inch of skin along your leg.

    It‘s like they kept making babies

    and stopped making baby whistles.

    Doable， yes， but here they

    teach us something different.

    It‘s a battery. It’s a garden.

    The glass box in which the lettuce grew

    was broken by nasty raccoons

    and we turned the other cheek.

    The sun does rise and melt the frost，

    the frost in little drops does fill

    the empty lettuce， and in this way

    the world is truly nourished.

    No incredible silence， no

    intangible calorie， just

    bad raccoon in a good world.

    Just coverless table and

    silent drape awaiting breakfast.

    Imagine how mean people

    can be in dreams， and how

    kind sleeping seems later.