Cold November morning
My mind is still fallen into the mud dream
“The starry floor
The watry shore”
Swaying laundry through the window
Passing golden messengers stroke them
God is blue like an orange
Be or not to be money
What everything were touched
By my manus…
Walls
Servants
Plants
Doors
Bath…
Let them eat money
Need only money
As if we are like monkeys on Monday
On the way
Walking with sweat
I found Vietnamese Bánh mì shop
I bought a black coffee
Good aroma and unique taste
Delicious, I was satisfied
We have the language with our tongue
Our tongue knows different tastes
Fire autumn sky laughing
And burning a bloody apple