Al Quotion. The Part Of Improvisation (№ 157528)

I have fish. They look from me to the window of the world with their empty eyes, cold-gleaming scales in the light of random star. They silently die in the heating of a mixture of soul and silently, are born again. Shy the fry of doubt, predatory snake love electrified by passion, voracious sharks of rage and colorful poisonous fish smiles. They multiply, devour each other, hiding from the bustle under the stones of memory and fingering transparent fins inside me, silently floating in the inevitability. I have fish. I smoke and watch at my window pouring sky. I look at him with a blank eyed fish, I sorted out his transparent fingers, I inhale water, I'm floating in...