Cold November

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