Invent Capital in the armpits of Indian women =

The sleepless housewife becomes his snake

metaphor for the splits of Germany. No ideas but in

misogyny. Let untold apartments bloom with teacups

and shifts and sharp battleships. The people

of uncapitalised carapace wait in the glass house.

                                                                             Quick, the strike

starts under the sign of the dialectic and the writing

is a death-gripped scotch on the rocks. Compose yourself

and wait is the usual order for Saxifrage, at those slow words

from directors struggling to reconcile their gods and the

writing of October. His weed stones us all, women are

to be everywhere ‘things’ or ‘flower’ through to, obviously,

‘quiet’. And that, ‘my credo’, was all that was left in the notebook
with a cry of ‘EINE PAAR SEIDENE STRUMPF’.