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 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 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 riverbed
I woke up to cry from the valley of 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