the coolie-messenger is squatting in the doorway
slowly turning around
like a windmill
along the river
suddenly inspiration broke out again
all over me
the electric punkah whirrs on the ceiling
like the god’s train
that would never go away
for all the wonderful times
devices of fertility
like the neck of a snail
or like crocodile-dung
are bringing out the worst in me
in my own words
we disappear
we were the loved-ones

words: boa
music: boa, lund, vella