A yellow-beaked cuckoo lays an egg in the nest of a black-beaked cuckoo. Rain clouds hatch from it. One hundred years in the future a still-life artist becomes famous due to his oil paintings depicting the smell of umbrellas never touched by rain.
A thunder gives birth to an armful of roses. A poet examines the placenta and finds fragments of stardust.
Here I am, my mother gone, my father gone,
no one left to regard my faults with a kind eye.
They are free from time whereas I am its slave,
its concubine of demandable lusts.
Look at me all Shakespeare,
I’m Hamlet with no father to revenge,
just a foolish knave caught in the mire of indecision,
knowing not what is true and what is false.