Deep Insight the House of Moths
through the murky knottiness of hollow winter trees
I saw the pale face of unseeing man
who wasn't there through years that went by
the candlelight is about to turn into fluid clay
and wigs are prepared for nocturnal art
art of waiting
art of strangeness
art of wishing
art of breathing
necessary for the stay between animate walls
in a place where secrets buried within rise up
in a place surrounded by forests of steel
and aluminium prairies
where vigilant cherubs carry revolvers
and deliver all the cryptic revelations
the disturbing motorcade is slowly approaching
and someone is tapping
on my shoulder
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