& کے بول

Hand over hand I'm pulling myself together On this itchy couch again I'd pull you in But I couldn't help thinking Or My mouth was tarpaulin Let me start again I didn't mean to say so Much about my plans So you see my hand See? It's never either/or now Stigmata ampersand The morning is the self it's self evident A clattering of blinds A mimetic wind A sympathetic tremor I'm A tessela of signs Oh, I close my eyes and Fractal inner rings of varicose resign Coiled dark inside I'll open my eyes and clear my Throat when I know it's time