Storm 

Your homeland is a two-foot tall lonely death

It’s funny to realize the empathy of rain because I don’t have a sky

Spit, urine, semen, blood dripping from the ceiling 

I don’t know why the neighbor is screaming in pleasure or pain

Like a forest’s untranslatable name the mirrors ring

Underpants and socks stacked neatly in the closet

And the room and the apartment are gone

And there was never a home 

Time licked off the wall

Your father takes off his belt and jerks off to Mercury

The burgundy ass of mankind trembles

Hang my voice from a dead tree

A voice the size of the eye of a needle

A thick silence you can’t drink anymore

A ship of emptiness caught in a red storm

The sailor is asleep: he looks at the stars