Deceiving Evenings
there’s a grey cat sitting on my shoulder
singing the drunken songs of the crying jag
so that’s why she finally didn’t come over?
with silver rings on her eyelashes
with green aurora in her sunglasses
should I be worried when walls slowly fade away?
leaving the crooked winds flood my hollow room
whatever, I’ll be glad with my form of clay
when there’s a thrill in the air, I assume
I’m nothing in nothingness
a hole in the void
and shards of her killing glance
made me schizoid
wave, wave and wave from afar
but leavings will always be bizarre
so long, adieu, goodbye (so far)
and don’t forget to send a postcard
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