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
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