Timedance

Days before
I was sitting at the door.
The keys holding in my hands.
Pictures behind the windows.

On the other side of the street,
where the neighbourhood begins,
loads of smiling dust is spinning around.
Covering big and small entitys wíth shiny table cloths.
Catching colours to paint the walls in downtown.
The newspaperman is praising daily illusions.
And endorsed papers are shooing away.
An umbrella for each to defend from the washing rain.

Up the stairs there will be lines and figures.
Structures with falling sides.
Bit by bit a milky melody is coming up.
Candles in the wind have no lights any more.

No end .. so to be continued
with scanning fingers
and asking eyes, who want too much