Acouphènes

The sun is crowded the tea house closed in summer for repairs and the wind ravages those for whom these strangers sing. Of course there will always be anarchy and mistletoe the misery of bleak and uninviting places where you can unwind and tell the past like childhood is curved. Somewhere in Ecuador a hunchback and her lovers eye a vacuum cleaner borrow tragically a questionnaire evil evaporates alien forces crowd the walls how beautiful their unheard cries and René Char who calls us cowards.