that silence.  
all the neighbors went to the Gogol workshop.  
(t.k. and m.ž. and r.k.)  
                    so only fishes could bark.  
actually I do not have a mirror, to look closer
at how the plastic crucifix yawns behind the knitted curtain  
(miracle of the eternally immovable, crucified figure)  
and the evening is already here. she is a whoremonger of colors.  
and at night, the city blabs nonsense outside in some
happy language.  
                    I do not understand a word.  
it is quiet in the room:  
and my lizard is hidden under the broken radio.  
he claims: that’s all for today.  
a light bubble, naked for me, waits to burst over the bed
and squeeze a drop of black ink
                    on its white.  
so then it would really be quiet.  
and I do not have another wish.