~ simon perchic every wall has a resting place kept warm though in the dark it drains , overgrown with cracks and grasses you brush on footpaths the way every greenhouse is nourished heated by the mouth on your mouth -- another coat seems reasonable so you paint this wall over and over till what 's left standing overflows never dries into that slow love song from before the sun grew huge it would fit into this room , had time to stay and night not yet surrounded falling behind , from far away weeping into nothing at all .