The Things In A Gypsy's Basket

IV

There is a brutal coldness. In a poor dormitory somewhere in Brooklyn, cigarettes are lit by themselves. The time stops. April doesn't let May come.

A lonely woman goes into her room. Locks the door. Closing the curtains. Then watching herself through the mirror. She keeps watching herself. Her left hand slowly touches her left cheek -She does it slowly, but the birds are in the mirror, afraid of her movement and go away- A man notices the woman while looking at the birds. The woman begins to shift her left hand from her throat to her right tit. The man's eyes almost come out from the mirror. She starts caressing her tits in front of the mirror, while she is thinking of someone on herself. Her hand goes down and down... She lays on her bed. The man disappears.

February comes from far away and takes the brutal weather and leaves. All the cigarettes suddenly extinguish. April is over in a night. In the same night, May is over.

V

There is a house, and trees,

always a sun, and clouds.

Beyond them, 

maybe some mountains or not…

Even though there are no birds,

their nests are always ready.

Neither three nor five,

always four people;

mommy, daddy, little brother, and herself

in the painting and poem.

Then a flower,

in the painting and poem.

Now the same flower

in the painting and poem

can touch the clouds,

if they let it!

VII

It's 12:43 am. What if I look at people's faces to be satisfied then get bored. At 12.44, let’s say, there is a person in a boat; the boat is called Sofia. He pulls the oars. There is always some smoke that rises up from the factory chimneys. It's 12.45. On the train, a beautiful woman reads a book. A hand is looking for a lighter in the pockets. The hand is still looking for it. Keeps looking for it. At 12:46, eventually, it finds the lighter. After lots of moaning, on the bed, the man just came, she pulled her knees toward her chest. He reaches for a cigarette, the hand offers him the lighter from the window. He lights the cigarette. She's thinking of awful things. Wiping her own pussy with a napkin. She is a complete woman. It takes too much time for 46 to become 47. It is 12.47. In a bar, when a soloist woman throws her hair from the right side to the left, a man’s mind goes from the right to the left. At 12:48, a man is in a room; inside the man, a room stands. There is five minutes near the man, and the room; inside the five minutes there is the man, the room, and another five minutes. They all suddenly stop, even the five minutes stop. The room watches from the window; the man watches from his brown eyes; the five minutes watches from the frame of the clock; they all together watch a man in a room. At 12.49, I missed you.