In a maze   you looked for the way back

He said he had a house

She married him

 

Shamble of glass   rubble   and plastic bottles

Even the pain in your feet   hasn’t woken you up

 

There is a world without sun

A goldenrod background painted by you

Colors twist gently into the floating air

 

Blank   exaggerated   dense   constitutes the trilogy of the house

The blank left hand side of the house   windowless

Just thick plaster

Downcast eyes

 

The middle part, a crude surface

A gaping fissure makes an entrance, ten meters high

A gray staircase leading in

A gray tongue

 

Dense balconies grow on the right

Stainless security cages climbing unevenly on the balconies

No light in the windows, a few clothes hung out

Crowded lives

 

Within the silence   there is the sound of running

Sound of closing the iron door

Sound of rubble crushed underfoot

Sound of heavy breathing

 

Concrete is decomposing

A kind of introverted matter   is seeking release