Deep insight the house of moths

through murky knottiness of hollow winter trees

I saw the pale face of unseeing man

who wasn't there through years that went by

the candlelight is about to turn into fluid clay

and wigs are prepared for nocturnal art

art of waiting

art of strangeness

art of wishing

art of breathing

necessary for the stay between animate walls

in a place where secrets buried within rise up

in a place surrounded by forests of steel

and aluminium prairies

where vigilant cherubs carry revolvers

and deliver all the cryptic revelations

the disturbing motorcade is slowly approaching

and someone is tapping

on my shoulder