On the left the blue wall paper, a hallucination of the skies, sprinkled by the hot
mouth praying, turned towards the wall.
Permanently chewing words. Mouth breeze accompanying the brain’s haze.
Imaginary icons in the roughcast and in the paper strips glued to it.
One last mosquito searching for my blood, foreseeing that it will not be crushed
on that paper sky.
On the right, right next to the night cream the glass of black tea and between
my friends’ books the alarm clock, usually I keep forgetting
To change its batteries just like forgetting to drink that tea and to tame those
dark rings under my eyes. In me, how could I call them, infrared dragons,
ignorant cell daughters of the chaos, lurking in all corners, and in me also angels with
swords of lilies and a ladder for God. In front of me people mating, flying and falling.
Building bridges and houses only to demolish them or to explode them.
People writing books as lavatories are too small for their excrements. And people with
masks or with stuffed pigeons in their mouths. Pseudo friends, politicians, parapsychologists, prophets and parasites: television-jungle.
Behind me the illusion of white blossoms falling onto my carpet. My father in a vase. Nobody above me and nobody at the door, not even me.