Verbal theaters where thirst becomes salt moons and ticket lines of expectant eyes and a system that deciphers sound We are lost in verbal theaters, tribal dances and constant swallowing There are fortunes in the mountains and there are donkeys that will take you and leave you in the mountains Wine parched poets will talk to you ask you to buy automobiles and memorize the names of hotels where you washed your face and changed your clothes they will spread oil paintings and manuscripts across your sleeping eyes and listen while dreams return to their rushing silence.