he settles down to his

restaurant-styled desk

and he tries sorting his

staple of calling cards

thinking of visitors for his

exhibition

that lies in a static state

since april and frozen

since the start of corona.

but then he types some

intimate thoughts

as if he’d do a striptease

for his muse

just like anne did for him

virtually

and if eroticism and faked

climax mix

diluting borders of true

feelings

so it all happens in public

life and in politics.

he settles down to his

writing desk

editing poems he wrote

at a bus stop/ the subway/

waiting between fast food

kiosks

the waft of spices colours

his words

wynton marsalis with his

refined orchestral breeze

lets the words dance along

for a grand ballet/ colours

blotched upon a giant canvas

of imagination

for great happiness.

happiness.ssenippah

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.