Two Calls Poem by Pierre Rausch

And who are busied with the brief
What these women believe
Mingled with vague
ray
And that consoles her
Afternoons
Afternoons cling this
Do what you will
Afternoons cling this
He is very uneasy
Afternoons cling this
Except when he rose and retired
In main prison
Libido, freedom
At first – squirr
Corridor – blues
Crawl it out
Afternoons cling this
Could crawl out
No one what to say
Bars cling this afternoon to end
Guys scream
Guys cling this bar
His phone beeps, his phone beeps
Toxin, in Metropolis, ceiling
His phone rings, his phone rings
Born to be held to reeling
To consult phone machines
Who would not be sick of jail
Memories of am I, what am I
A number, a cell
And I am slave of two calls
Memories of am I, what am I
A number, a cell
And I am slave of two calls
A number, a cell