These days of sleep doss in the space of raving,
and the four black colours squeeze the heart of their dream.
Ah, it was wasted.. On that day of waking ـــ I still remember ـــ I searched
for measurements ــــــ Shapes… My shape. Surely my shape;
neither tricky mirrors nor bribed water got supine to cheat me.
Sucking my thumb ــــ Mmm, my shape ــــ the surge of melancholy hypnotised the sun and some hand switched off the light…
Thus, I had to sleep.

Oh… Wh ـــــــــ ?!
Sir…! You! Sir?!
Speak, sir!… Are you blind?
Are we in a brothel?
What is behind all these doors?
Sir, sir, sir…
This way the Shapes fade away..

A cigarette butt rolled on the pavement in a hurry to queue in the Convoy.
Unable to jump… Saturated with brown water, it fell down to the spiral mouth of the road drain, and went in the dark of that which the Architect had designed. 


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