Realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio” 
I am touched by everyone now alive,  
softest jazz, lower right, his lips moving up, down,  
talking design shit. Another’s naive mirror goes up for sale, for example.  
His father’s image contains everything he knows. How can a bantam weight =  
feigner? his son asked over the mirror phone.   
 
Dad’s book is staring out the window, saved-up.  
Amusing I suppose. With regard to static and its ovoid, stasis  
in a compulsive battle over the ultimate smiley face —  
it’s not just who grinned first that counts, but also where  
and how. This’s my tongue giving his lips a brush up  
realizing my dream performance in “Fidelio.”