Thank You, Max Brod

last night I slept in a closet with my coat made of tangerine desires and visions of distant permafrost last night I remembered white noise in her voice buried hopeless in a bureau of disdain the apartment on rue Fontaine has fallen into disrepair embraced by anarchist movement embraced by emerald seaweed embraced by quicksand swirl embraced by golden doll hair and transformed itself into the roar inside the hourglass last night I slept in a foxhole with ace of spades stuck in my teeth with joker hidden in my sleeve last night I woke up to the music of orchestra playing at the riverbed to the cry from the valley of the rivets there is no time for purple parables as rocking chairs bring eyes to my tears they bring the winds of mortal gestures they bring the equations they bring the reveries while my co-existence remains a mystery