Fountains

Fountains and colorful kites spurting out confetti and hard tunes heavier melodies like bad dreams dipped in thick chocolate sauce and wonderful anklets of gold and bronze making music with every footstep of garlic and bread growing taller with every passing minute inside clock-dials of sand and spice and everything nice borrowed from a beach or a coastal land seashore sand banned from being under the footsteps of peacocks and other dances who wear green and blue shining shimmering toothpaste of stripes red and white and an album named elephant covered in red white and black probable siblings portable authenticity of facts in song lyrics abacus counting beads of sweat in Chinese or Mandarin women go marching carrying baskets on their heads to paddy fields and someone else throws a full truck measure of tennis balls discussing David Markson with Wittgenstein whose mistress wears talcum powder in fluorescent shades of pink and green and blue shining bright in the middle of the night after drinking bottles of photons in the day weakening the sun reducing to a mere handful of banana-peel yellow and the jealousy of Andy Warhol’s novel a novel in reels of audio tape conversations obscenity normal scenery of nature with a rising sun and a couple of mountains and clouds and flying birds in the assumed nothingness of sky left either uncoloured or in an almost invisible shade of gray blue conversations of rock stars and poets who do not conform neither do they confirm if they’re going to be there at the little girl’s party on the seventeenth night of the seventh month from today with promises of iced malt drinks and chocolate chip cookies and quickies in the deepest interiors of decorated rooms with lace curtains swaying gently in the wind