Aksinia Mihailova
Photo: jenny downing
He left his dreams
in the neon city
inhabited by gilded statues
with sick light in the eyes.
He closed his suitcase, locked the door
and went.
At the bottom of it
he has thoroughly folded
the melody he bought
from a street musician on the pier;
an etching of an ark –
under its vaults – the silence of the night
sagging,
and the rest of his life:
a Taro card with
a tower struck by a lighting.
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