Clock coffin hands street on old gray sheets. Take the car and you’ll ruin the greatest day of my life. Pretending an impulse is something without respect for mental suffering, twins talk in unison after the tin bells fall. What were Sarah and Siegfried doing in the strawberry patch? Collision averts collision, cars and gravestones over-rolled with rope-muscles. Telegram, thunder, and correspondence – louder. Overturned guitar unfolds its blanket wings. Try to smile. But it hurts so. To have – until tomorrow – trouble not sleeping. Something I can make or gather for name day. A doctor’s first duty is to ask forgiveness of bacteria in spring. Microscope laughter. Dangling ladder of ashes – bad transportation. Suddenly, he gets very tender with pills. Unbelievable raincoat creates the organic sphere. The subject knows about life from flowers. Patience with a cannon, peace with smoke. In this jumble of violins, I seem to discern a sleeping pill. Music and death. An empty page for the strange night.