Around these women that surround me,
There are lots of men,
Not one of them is drunk, but intoxicated with their perfumes rave.
My bitten tongue, detriment to communication,
Which I don’t really need as I have nothing to say to them, all of them.
Yet we keep signaling to each other, all of us.
Women do it in a cancan way,
Some men wave handkerchiefs, some others knives, some hats.
I do it with a broken wand.
Darling, release the darling lions.