Just as I wished the way it should rain,
After a sultry summer of absurd warmth,
It is raining through my window, in my bed,
Hiding the streetlight, the piercing eyes, the moon...
I could enjoy
the sparkling music in my tv, moderns showing them belly buttons,
Or an evening
in New York with Rachel,
The African
Black Mamba could hypnotize me...
A kibbeh, chicken
schintzel, carribean cooler should do...
Or I could
write a few worthless lines.
It’s just 11:45 P.M.
These days
the clocks have ceased to make a sound, still time manages to flow,
A glass of
whiskey in my hand,
Alone,
blissful solitude, a beautified, adorned solitude,
The mobile
sings to it,
Won’t pick it
up, today I am a nobody,
Don’t want to
know the unknown either...
This glass of
whiskey,
Hanging casually in my chair,
This
ceaseless rain outside my window,
Within the
absolute silence of the crickets,
In a short frame
in space with volume too tiny to measure,
You appear
through the closed door...
And you
vanish in oblivion...
The pen drops
without a clue to my annoyance,
Let it roll,
in whichever way it may prefer...
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