If you come to someone's home
and they have ducks painted on the wall
don't fuck them.
My idea is to nail live ducks so they will
symbolise a human's desire to kill
everything that breathes.
I and my friends would love breaking its neck
as well as we'd love to penetrate and dissect
each other's heads.
Now when the ducks' carcasses are bleeding
our misunderstanding should either start receding
or disembowel us.
I can either hide in my house as if the clerk
working from nine to five or again try my luck
and make a final solution.
I feel no urges either to avenge or to make peace
I look at my life as if at someone else's masterpiece
my vision is as clear as ever.
My memory for me is not the most confidential servant
but I can assure you that I am as accurate and observant
as you would never fancied.
Whisper my name in the cosmic silence or in the village green
as you might never see me in my paranoiac brilliancy on scene
again. Because I am an Imaginary man.