yes,in your room there is a clock without hands
    and the loneliness breathe in your back;
    the pink mountains begin around the corner
    with the dead trees
    with the dead leaves
    but they seems to me like a painting from Monet
    do you remember the way he work with the colors?
    yes,and I try to think about the other people
    like they told me to,and when some thought appear
    it is not happy at all,
    these empty souls walking up and down the streets
    entering the market places talking to each other
    smile laugh nod touch moan cry wail kiss kill
    oh it’s so empty it’s so dry
    and I see the kids playing by the curb under the hot sun
    with their mothers round them like some vanity fair
    but who is this guy on the ground sleeping covered with
    papers and sadness and remorse and prayers and death
    I walk past him
    I am living in my small world full of razor blades and
    suicidal thoughts and the black ravens on the wires
    are dirty and they try to scream at me but I don’t scream
    back because they have places for people who do that
    all this present is sodden with vomit and decay booze and
    but behind those purple hills there is a new world
    full of colors and dance and magic and laughs
    and it is hopeless for us to try to reach it
    go back into your small rooms
    and when the death comes
    it will be gentle and calm as a butterfly
    no more
    no less.
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"Bethlehem graveyard and steel mill. Pennsylvania"
Evans, Walker, 1903-1975, photographer.
Library of Congress, Prints & Photographs Division,
FSA-OWI Collection, [reproduction number,