Old by sight, showed her most loyal friend, Madame Spiegel:
eyes, nose, Can, a couple of crow's feet, schemenhaft,
as well as a flap slot for the prisoner's daily menu,
the spartan fare, above, behind the forehead,
(handed by the fat-cheeked fire devil, day after day),
than a Gucci water hand, practiced and fast,
took her head, heavy as lead, like a vase, over to the armchair
wore and from a turban, the color of a snowdrift, wrapped -
“How would you like it? Tinted, bleached, toupiert,
tiered over the ears, smoothed with the iron, loosely falling,
only a few millimeters rasp-short or shoulder-length?“
Now a ridge was approaching. A spore parted the walls,
Splitter powers. A scissors, sniffing like young noses,
stroked my hair.
Struck.
Something fell to the ground.
I forgot, what it was.
(22.10.17)