Poets

the clue in the sentence is the corpse. so real, so deep inside. we are the privileged ones, we can look it over, lend it an ear, poke at it and conclude: ho ho his death out of breath,

soon, the estate kiosks will fall and to get our sweets we'll have to run all the way to tesco. sage senses the influence of global markets and the eventual end of lower life forms. they spit on those like us

that it's raining, he said. cast off his coat and entered marcin's things. marcin seems to express no objection: lying low and passing quietly, not quietly enough though so as we can't hear (marcin's things riddled with shivers).