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.

I turned off the light of the world. If you would like to find me, burn yourself. I like you as the scintillating flame. Even if you cause hefty maim, you remain an iconic frame. I'd like to catch you in a fete. keep asking you to differentiate, and make you blate. I'd like to offer you a flower. even if you dwell in a bower, I make your ponytail scour. The frabjous shape of your nose. makes my mind blows, and uttering prose. Your appealing eyes make me berserk. even in the depth of murk, I always lurk. I'd like to cross with you hemispheres. Sail with you across frontiers, and gather a myriad of souvenirs. I travel with you to festive powwows. kiss your lips in Winnebagos, While we stop in Laos. Direct me with your light. The compass of my soul shall delight, I will be your knight. You are a sparkling bewitching star. when you walk onward from afar, the earthly mosses mar. I like it when you sip liquor. or just jibber-jabber and bic...

I have made a boat and the sea gets dried. I have broken the boat and the rain started to clatter down. Where am I supposed to sit my anchor.? At the bottom of the deep when no one dares to or somewhere between hope and despair.? I have been sandwiched in between.. like a mountain that the earth divorced and the sky neglected. I feel like a red dot, a grammar mistake in the text of the world. I roved forlorn in boundless spheres and weary paths, I refrigerated my mind, microwaved my brain cells, sliced my winks...Just to meet the coldness of the world and the icy souls of the land. A coldness that is so dull and motionless. Even the rain doesn't fall Charlotte, it is a mimetic act of people's sorrow. As long as it raining you can imagine the amount of losses. It is like that Charlotte. It is portrayed in the accumulated water pools, in the leaves, in the streets and above human thought, deep, so deep where nobody dares to see or behold. I have always felt that I belong to th...