Your thoughts are ribbed boletes;

low-lying biodiversity risks

twisting like lianas

around your widely witnessed obstinacy

You skeleton has long been outdated,

your fleshy stomach contradicts itself,

your knees rattle and cling

halfway down your gray-yellow shanks

Your long fingers thin themselves out

into your retouched past

One could name all sovereign states

surrounding you

One could even summon Bernard Heidsieck's VADUZ,

but dialing 911 for rhyming relief is futile;

now it's ChatGPT that applies

You shuffle around in ugly prose,

moisture creeps up to genital height above sea level

You lie in wait in my landfill armchair

in the nineteen sixty-seventh year after Christ

and fill up my reminiscences;

sucking on pens, looking incredibly good,

with fame eager in the timbre of your attack,

the Nobel Prize five decades ahead,

yet you build fears

and begin your lifelong pause

Your face itches,

wants to know more, wants to feel it succeeds at something

In pause mode, the universe expands uncontrollably,

the sun sags over the crust,

the silver cat claws the bannister

The wet snow seeps in

The cosmos settles into the couch

and lectures on ski slopes and cloud covers

In the northernmost Lapland, everything begins

Further south, everything takes hold of itself

Otherwise, no information is unfortunately available,

but the morning's preliminary lowest thought

is thought in Ubbyn Village