In my pocket a spider

Within tranquility captured

His ignorance of me outside of my pocket

Death sneezes on souls

And I lick her saliva with my tongue

I forgot what was the most important fact about words

Memory is a two finger high froth

In my glass

A fly shows me the dark’s curve under my eye pit

If he would have known me

The spider would have laughed at me

I am laughing too

At the water’s struggle as a water fall

I would laugh even if I would drink

Death’s saliva

From a well.