With my twelve inches dictating the...

With my twelve inches dictating the rhythm on the aluminum courier
of David's cradle, I reach through the whole extent of his head for a ballpoint
to write down death. First there was Murka
below the wheel of a car. Then Mini vanished mysteriously,
as if she'd been kidnapped by means of the Palestinian counterintelligence. Kosma died
a hardly any days ago, emaciated with diarrhea, the drip and the kisses didn't work,
he miaowed for relief to the highly end. Now comes a message saying that Marylou was killed in a motorcycle crash, chasing the wind. Not extended ago
I fix her delayed hair in the