Trees in a storm.
Trees in a storm sway cause they don’t have any choice.
They don’t have their lovers getting naked on a charcoal spread…
We have. And that’s why we are the greatest portals of intuition.
I always think about hotel rooms…how they are magical…how they are like those gloomy trains which takes you through days…
The smell of them…the corners where light fades.
There could be a whore sleeping here last night with her butt open,
or a running banker
or a caged musician
or a man who is lost in his shortcomings.
I have never liked the time after a sudden squall,
everything seems so finished with the ride…
Winds are like free women here, in this place of blues…
The trees are swaying as they always are,
perhaps the greatest of deaths happen when people can’t see anybody beyond their doubts.
I guess wine and my ears will going to be a good company for tonight.

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Photograph: Alfaenergy.