sanama

Before the service begins

Before 6 am, when the day still feels distant and the whales are singing on the Autobahn

Before anyone talks to you

Before you become deaf to blackbirds, immune to lavender

Before love begins to sound like a piece of numb metal

Before the drunken people who are living in yesterday ––

you stand there observing the past enfolding, the crowd has a sadness to it: they know, that the day has come to its end, yet they linger in front of the clubs, in pizzerias, in town squares, fighting the cousin of Death by the silent fountain 

Only the sentences don’t come out as intended; they have sluggish modes, they are chewed dry and swallowed, sometimes cut in the middle

––

…tomorrow is slow waves of black coffee with Brian Eno