képek, betűk

Over my heart trampling,
the afternoon
had been drawing a face of the night on the shutter
for a couple of minutes,
I slept through its pencil's bumping and crying,
the wall opposite
our flat in 5 Brooklands Court covered itself
by orange-coloured blight,
I saw the whole decadence of that moment;
it was like a dully-fluffy dance
with the slowly dying snow on the pavement,
and I sawed a long watercolour paper roll
saluted in the corner of the living room by the knife from the sink,
its teardrops transformed bread crumbs,
sang a familiar pop song in their contralto voice.
While stared at them, they delivered themself into the bin,
I pushed myself next to them when they were done.
After that slippery and jiffy pseudo episode,
I was still in the same night,
sitting on my office chair,
the foetus of the afternoon laid on my knees,
we listened to the cars grumbling on Hatfield road;
that was a peaceful,
almost the dumbest experience of that life
what we had left; just did not realise.