For Al, a white story.

36°C
I stay at home in my underwear and try to cool
down by sticking my head under the shower,
or in the kitchensink from time to time; that's
where a have met Al for the first time.
I dedicate this poem to him for he died from a broken
toe , unable to hunt anymore.
These images came popping up in my head after an almost
sleepless night, they only needed some editing to give
them sense, I think the poem is done now;
you might recognize some images of Dante's
famous Inferno and other stuff, but I guess that is
what automatic writing is, a mix of impressions and
thoughts, as in a dream.

here we go :-)

F I N