look at him how he’s stuffing wild strawberries in the salt cellar
and the jam in the ballet dancer’s goloches from the bar
I care today
as much as two spins made by the hoop skirt
a turkey-leather toe cap lined with basan
and one hundred grams of pâté de foie gras
taken from twelve obedient geese thrown in the arena
I’m leaving him


these fetiches aren’t good for you, you know
where do you think you are


the gladiator comes up holding the napkin on his arm
how disgusted the pheromones, my lady
the man over there is inviting you to a free tomography
and a boat ride on the pond
in front of the paid parlour
among water lilies and a swan suffering from jaundice


I’m taken, she tells him
to be sliced already
but I’ll have a small tomo
only after about one hundred grams
of pâté de foie gras


look at me tomo, baby and make me a drawing on this ticket
so that I could see where it’s coming from
you’re saying, you didn’t know what to do
to answer, to explain
I pitied you
I swore, the hell with me, scolding nagging bad-tempered woman
here you have purple uttered
one hundred grams of pâté de foie gras