Friday dreary as decrepit alleys.
Friday of ill lazy thoughts.
Friday of surrenders.
House shuttered against the rush of youth.
House of darkness, of a painted sun.
House of solitude, of omens, of doubts.
House of curtains, closets, books, and photographs.
O how serene and proud
my life meandered,
like an exotic stream,
through the heart of these silent, lonely Fridays,
through the heart of these desolate, empty houses.
How serene and proud flowed my life…