Night Prowlers do not care about time and time does not care about them;
it moves forward regardless.
They refuse to accept the new day, as do I — though I may give in when my bottle is empty.
The Café is dangerous after midnight; there is a clash and contrast of the most alien
reds and greens. Colours compete as people do.
I made a painting of the café in hopes of understanding the rivalry of colours.
It is one of the ugliest I have done and it makes me sick to my stomach.
Ginoux asked me if I’m feeling alright, I answered — yes, I’m fine,
but the colours grow violent.
the night sky is richly coloured
like an ocean
where Venus flaunts her white light
and a lemon-like moon shines
from beneath foaming waves.
Someone, perhaps God, has
lit ten lanterns —
guiding lights that I ignore
in favour of the waves.
I dream up a whole town
of sleepless people.
Together we watch
the waves come down
upon us, and for once
I am not the only one