the coffee will taste the same
the blue chair she sat in
will stay blue
her PC screen – darkened for a while
her pictures – gone
people will chit chat in lower voices about the same things
money/hair/kids/grit/turkeys
the delivery boy will bring the mail
at 11:00 AM sharp
babies will cry until their mothers will feed them
mothers will moan until their babies turn will come
some managers will keep planning targets
some employees will keep ignoring them
some will loose a key from their drawers
I remember the spring of 79
as me and Bob Seger left for Katmandu
dad
a retired railwayman was befriending Feodor Dostoevsky
later I learned that his life had become a boat without paddles
an important word lost in translation
meanwhile my name
indigo painted
was hiding like Euripides in cave
oftentimes I'm checking myself for signs of rust
every morning God throws a silver coin in my hair
not keeping evidence of the bell gongs stuck in my ears
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