Tactile Gemma Whiz
I have trapped a little wind in a box
I can hear it whiz around in there
And with my ear against the box
I dip brushes in colours nobody's ever seen
I paint the air
The colours float about
Winged toads have been stored under my tongue for a
while
Now I let them fly
And just like birds they steer towards the sky
They smash against the glass roof and hail down on me
As their wings fall off
I must disguise myself
Shall I tread beforeyou ion guise of a human
Or something more complicated ? An angel ?
Now I lap about in numberless mouth's hypothetical spit
I am a word and their tasting me without really
relishing me
Exchanging me with greasy words
Which land on their heads and melt
Something spirals out of the mouth I ' m in
It resembles some sort of winding stairs
With a frightened wingless toad on my arm
I slide on the railings and we speed up
And the circles are wide and we hold on to each other
in the centrifuge
Wet clothes swathe us and our heads are spinning
Our eyes roll round and round in our heads
The toad cries out " Slow down ! " and I croak
And suddenly we're trapped between four walls
We are in an ox caught by a little wind takes us round
and round and round ...
