In my naked girl's tights, wearing my big helmet with ram's horns, I marry the forest. I drool over the nourishing earth. Inside the still life, a blurred road carries me. Far from the rodeos I am absent. But the absent ones always have Thor. God Thunder did not scold me. Theatre of warlike operations composted in the dung. Degassed the trays off, into the sea and I smoked. "Pure air to your farts, can not compare" said to me the pressed carrier pigeons. "For you, the life of the railroad appears to be all mapped out. Don't plan to fly away anymore. "From your droppings my inactivity has sunk. Too many wandering matters away from the Odeons have led me.