With all its mystery, the night is definitely the best time for me to write.
“Hendrix jamming through the speaker.”Night and I
are sharing wine,
playing with the feelings
of one another.
Hendrix jamming through the speaker
in the corner of the room, music took him
to the future, or future shaped through his music,
or music and future walk together,
holding hands, passing age, and cutting time.
It’s only me and metal pipes,
looking at the stars, in the state
of permanent insomnia, sipping artificial juices,
tired muscles lost the ability to smile,
while eyes are begging for a ticket to the latest movie.
Frozen mummy, trapped on endless duty,
walking in circles on patrol, guarding tubes and pipes,
random slime and whisper of the night.
Yellow rust and crazed bats,
don’t worry about the safety of your regime,
I’m here to guard your sleep and meal,
as you watch me drawing shoe lines
on the sticky, sandy surface.