the pistoleer pedals a fiendish pace
through Parisian streets, tails the cort�ge
wearing bright yellow shoes

��������������- a fine farewell, you sneer

he smiles and nods to a space
between the handlebars, says

��������the fairy asks that I paint myself green

the moral ones clack their tongues,

meshuga over a glass of green
����������- his poor mother - her pantry a mess!

shards of jars from the shelf
make a picket fence for foetal siblings