Poeme I UPDATED

YESTERDAY

In a world made of earth, bricks and thoughts
there is an urge
as communicative as a yawn,
through glass and steel,
from car to car,
form him to her, across the room.
In the dining-room
the group of friends are talking
around the white table
smeared with coffee and beer rings
on it, books and magazines.
In the basement drums are hit.

Open windows vomit sound
and music on the wooden terrace
like meat pouring out of a sausage maker.
Vibrations distort the air
and hearts pump creativity
through my friends' systems.
Their eyes see the sun for a brief moment,
looking up to the windows cutting
the light with three black bars.
The sunlight behind the clouds.

The heavy, foamy clouds,
deformed by the wind like Play dough,
overlapping each other,
float away to let the rays of light explode
as i watch them from the beach
on my big blue screen.

The night will erase all this,
when the alcohol that it brings
will pump into my friends' bodies.
It will numb their fingers
and put stupid smiles on their faces,
it will make their heads spin
like the sprockets of our bicycles
as fast as the records playing music,
and leave more rings on the white table.

voila bast ;)