The suspended coal burst of a kiwi fruit.
I have never seen you eat a kiwi.
Where are you, my brother
in your coma?
I am not a ventriloquist
I will not tread softly to your bedside
I will organise no gathering.
Aren’t you worried about me?
The birds are singing.
In all humanity
there is no mistake here.
This way, this way.
My daughter, not yet born,
will paint your nails.
I will peel an apple for you
from your lousy still life.
Listen to me.
The hearing, I know, is last to go.