Jul 31
The brutalism of identical buildings
Emptiness sleeps behind the curtains
Waiting for a signal made by hand,
I strain to hear the voices
Flowerbeds filled with withered plants
Stones in blood-red dew
The panel walls whisper something in my wake
It’s as if I’m in someone’s dream
The brutalism of identical buildings
But the sun has seared my eyes
Through the window, with jagged hands,
Someone is signaling me
As if he were in someone’s dream,
As if I were in someone’s dream
As if we were in someone’s dream
As if I were
