All the butters were melted, 

warm winds everywhere 

and warheads. 

I had to went out to get new ones…

I can’t live without them…I can’t live without the satisfaction of heated knife cruising through dissolving fats. 

Everything seemed usual,

Sirens of tired ambulances…fire alarms, 

piles of rotten garbages. 

I bought two big chunks of butters like two lips of a young woman 

and then I bought some chilled beers to go with…

The cold sensations from these beautiful pieces of glasses helped those chunks remain virgin and faithful.

The room again…the yellow curtains again…

The heat waves again. 

I just sat there in the middle of this existence of unfinished artworks 

and drank beers in green music. 

I completely forgot about those two demanding butter chunks for two or three hours…

they were shapeless again.

………………………………………………………………………

Painting: Thomas Hancock.