The slides and the swings

Sliding down oscillating down the slide doing the dance of a shadow feather of one Bach and Seagull blue feather is only an illusion something I do not want to think about now, now who was that deaf musician and then there was a blind poet – oh yeah, there had been a blind scientist elephant too that had a trunk full of oxygen and a tree tomato papaya fruit full of seeds thrown into the wind scattered all around the ground in the backyard eating little coconuts drinking sweet water coconut two Oxygens and one Hydrogen after every congratulation that has been in the order of all the magistrates and landlords who aren’t greedy like unicorns or the mermaids who swim delicious in cool streams of consciousness like the joyous prose of Ireland in the yard of Scotland playing detectives hide and seek with chocolate chips and lemon juice salt and sweet before the births of dreams and demons in the middle of a street of grand justice and entrances made with every possible pomp and show ivory ornaments and walking sticks studded teeth of Siberian tigers cold like the Russian ice of Dostoevsky but not the Leo of tortoise that carries on its back the shell the world carbon fossil fuel and so much black and white before the gray shadows laugh out loud who owns a notebook with twenty-three empty sheets and the other forty-seven sheets filled with two hundred and seventy-three poems about love and lust and breasts and panting nights of hard work on soft beds of longing and passionate fruits hanging low in yet another olive branch of forgetfulness