Do you think that you can get to the plug, digging a road
through this isolate order,
with the green spade of a dentist technician,
scattering porcelains in your way, raping everything,
including the reality of the backstage door.
Don't pay attention to the bar tender,
- look how alone are the crackers around us -
and let me twist in pain in the front of the freshly painting,
or let's find some other names for it,
paintingoid, verticaloid, fluid.
"The sailor" in his febrile blueness,
and the doors banging behind like some riped leaves,
my contemplative friend,
the same one with whom I share subtleties at spanish parties,
the berliner museum's low-pitched height,
and the same brown eyes,
dissolving themselves in the custodians amalgam.
I rotate the cubes in my palm, and arrive to classify as formal
his smile painted on the handle of the door,
the salty smell of the green from the background,
exact contours of the face,
same lines that helps me finding the way home
in nights of depravity,
and the voice of my friend like a beads jingle:
- This Picasso has humor -

I could find the switch,
through so many drops of orange light,
venally injecting myself with meteorological memory servers,
- The ceiling. Do you feel that's much warmer tonight? -
catalysing any attempt of signal,
repainting any Light Emitting Diode that tries to send me
telegraphically into conscience,
disconnecting myself with screams and public shows
of the most crushed emotions,
same network that guide me home,
and the same gang of electricians, starting with the administrator
breaking,
the plasticate yellow of the morning,
called to disintoxicate the landscape by controlling the plugs from distance
and by measuring the height of my beer basin
where I dive daily,
for purification.

I connect the memory necessary for the change,
and with a hand on the switch, and with the feet firmly sunked into the plug
succeeded in grasping the freshness of that spring morning,
when I understand that Tuthankhamon is not at Berlin and Picasso has humor.

It follows the disconnection.