no spring for some
I saw an old drunk man
Sleeping in a tram
A black melanoma has crept
up his soft cheek like a little daemon-
An evil spider than sneaked out of my head
Drinking black blood
from his wine bottle
he suddenly passed off
his head hit in the glass
while the tram swung to a parked car
and its alarm set off
in hysteric grief
But all the naked trees,
otherwise rughless streets
the eyes of passengers,
Tired from blind windows
and lost headlights
were silenced in the soft spring night as if afraid to wake the poor man up