The FLUXUS JOURNAL
by Litsa Spathi
I can't think of anything.
It is already November - in a new country.
The water flows away.
It flows and goes its way.
The stairs hide a secret.
The floor too.
A conspiricy?
The water doesn't flow.
A woman niels down.
She wants something but
she can't think of anything.
Over the borders.
She tasts the scents and locks
she smells kisses.
In a forewarded envelope
by the German Postal Office.
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(c) November 2005 - Fluxus Heidelberg Center.