I raise the shutters… the morning is that of individual sounds… in a sea… in an empty glass… my intention was… my intention is… I believe… it’s Friday… February… l’exil de soi… construction workers on the property across the street… deliberately… the things I have to do today… African elephants live in the savannah and forage for food 17 hours a day… I sit down beside myself at eye level… leave it to chance to build a bridge… perhaps a paper straw… T.S. Eliot writes paratactically… the motif on the mug almost completely faded… except for the outline of the cat’s eyes… don’t tell me that people’s actions… make sense… when searching for literature about literature… proof of a degree is required… lukewarm coffee… in the depths of a calyx… a long night… l can fix them… headaches… the sky above the city… remains… only that… the taste of butter in comparison to no butter… matter… for whom… 

Kati Mohr