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Yo, his palms drip sudor, Jimmy can’t stand up, arms worn-out, / foodstuff thrown up on his clothing – it was his Mom’s pasta, / Jimmy’s afraid, but looks calm to all, and in position / to drop bombs, but Jimmy’s mind is lost in oblivion / in summoning his old writings. Public is roaring so loudly / that, although his mouth is ajar, no word is said by him. / Jimmy’s choking, how? Public is joking now, / Clock’s running out, no instants at his disposal – blaow!

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Oulipo.social (Mark II)

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