Persistent rain is a damned epileptic.
A wet finger wanders between them…
looking for Florida (and "firewater").
Salome excites the crowd there.
And he's one... one from the Colosseum
which is scary. Soon the courts
thundering like thunder over the night capital,
in them Holy faces are sanctified,
there are screams and lead in them.
But the room is only disturbed by the downpour.
He sleeps among bottles and papers.
A crown of carob glows above it.
He sees Brooklyn lifted by the fog,
in which for eyes name is Ivan…
a thin dog and a low porch…
transits to the message, of the poem, haste –
and opium a thin smile,
it's like snow falling on your face.
A Small ladle will give a quiet light
gone up. Under the ceiling meta
it turns, Morpheus with a chisel
scrapes the astral – and shavings of the snake-ring
fly in the footprints, in the clothes of Salome,
and in the head –
on a platter of gold.
Faintly heard jazz... Without rhymes and without sound
dry lips whisper " creature and bitch"
under the door that tormented the deserted hall.
The darkness, the droplets are wound on the branch,
so far let go of the puppet,
she fell helplessly under the table.