Sheaves of wheat lay in a field. Blue towels terrify me. The pictures of naked women keep moving to higher shelves as I grow up. When father works, the clocks stand still. I see enormous snowballs.
People think they contain the hidden horror of the world.
But I know. They re the finished work of slaves, waiting for me. I can build the little guy half asleep. When I take a red root from the bin and stick it in the smallest ball, I m more relaxed than a king who s planted a tree. The photos of my gestures go to the center.