behind the curtains of a home brothel

hoovering the remnants of your love making

at midnight

your female caterwaul in the rutting time

without an accompanying male voice

what’s this gonna be?

you break my peace greatly

every single day and night

of your orgies

and in the early morning hours

the cry of the seagulls reiterated

when you dare to invite them in, releasing your sin;

all the mess of the world

is connected for me with your person

even though I can’t see you

I can hear you enough

behind the shadows of your blinds

all your orifices satisfied

with a male-female act

holding sperm buckets

behind the balcony door

opened with panache every morning;

I wish the air was clean

from you very soon

not having to endure your presence

among many other sounds here

disturbing me

distorting my point of view

degrading neighbourhood

since nobody is doing anything

to stop this

reduction to peanut brains

they ravage my head

unceasingly

uselessly

unbearably

-

June – September 2022

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Thank you for reading!