The Sleepless Flaneur

Six o'clock in the evening at boulevard 16. Hour after hour, second after second. I stay locked in a private room In a laptop square, they call it Art. And my window in front of an American restaurant. My cup of tea with eastern taste. And the night wind brutilizes the walls. As I obey and obey and laugh... To the ticking of Tips, Endless peeping comments, And the ghostly green dots in front of me. I hear voices from pole to pole And barking dogs marching next to the restaurant. The steak odour sneaks from my window.. And the horde won't wait for late dilevery.

I in the waves of the forgotten sea.. and she in the river of Styx... We echo in forlorn temples.. And we meet in the desert of lost souls. Untouchable, unseen and unknown.

The smell of rain is sulphonic. Trees are surrounded by chthonic, And the winks are demonic Mice are crossing the smock stack. A blizzard outside and a buzzard inside, And I all forlorn. I refrigerated my mind in the freezer. Sliced my heart in the pan, microwaved my brain cells. In slow motion. I thwacked destiny with a plaque. ran smack into the knickknack, crushed the blackjack. A thimble of hope. An empty chair at the corner of the room. A picture of an epigraph, an image of a grey epitaph. A can of sardines. A lovely view of Calla Lily. Silence all over the room, some laments of the unknown. Tintinnabulation.