the hotel bedsprings creak with
her free rhythm haiku – it is
morning it is night this weekend
in sofia thousands of people
are making love wearing out
the beds the floors the sheets
the sounds of lovers penetrate
thick walls like doof doof or
the ocean though not so soft
as that her voice grows with
tsunami passion wires da da –
oh now she has fallen off the
bed (i look across you’re asleep
sounds melt in the†metropolis
