Rambling Over Spring

Good addictions suck me in
and arouse life to my emotion.
I chase them as if they were butterflies,
to cover walls inside my body.

Something about the talk on the radio
"spring time's here!"
made me feel a lot of butterflies float
in voids inside my arms and legs.
Summer collection arrived at the newspapers
covering model's legs with flowers.

Tel Aviv submerged in fogs and chills as I came back home
yesterday, at six in the morning.
Just to pass the time, 'cause the first train was at seven thirty,
I walked from Azriely train station
to the new central bus station,
through Masger street.

I passed through shut kiosks,
car shops and night clubs.
People who danced all night
still sat outside to inhale the chill.
Night stench rolled under my feet
like newspapers over filthy sidewalks
and it made me think there are places where spring really exists only in air and paper.

It's so lucky there's air,
it's the only thing connecting people and the world,
that passes the light
and the smell
and the cold,
unfortunately,
in buses mostly the smell.
The clatter of traffic deadens all and finally I fall asleep
till I reach a strip of beach
blazing under a harsh sun,
caressed by a rolling, lazy wind.
Dreamy parachutes ford the sky,
waves wash and go
but the moisture lags,
flooding my consciousness,
smearing my makeup over dark circles
greasy hair and sleeveless shirt.

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