Staring at twirling steam
micro-turbulences in dust dry air
parched mucous membranes
my heater is working
outside, a relentless november
cold and humid
hostile
like a stalactite cave
but with cars and concrete
yesterday, I've burned the roof of my mouth
eating something I can't recall
I could turn my head to see what's left in the sink
but it won't ease the discomfort
I'm quite smart
(No, you're not.)
I know.
At times, I'd like to meet the guy in my head
to see how he's doing
what pose he's in
Likely, sitting in an armchair
cross-legged
looking through thick glasses
wearing a ponytail
a trace of a smirk on his lips
listening to Mozart
Mozart's music is misleading
annoying, like shiny and meaningless ads
with the depth of a puddle
nothing can be further from the truth
(You've no idea.)
Watching the twirling steam
Accumulating thoughts over a cup of tea
