I hear the sound of water through the withered grapevine. Under the abandoned wards built on sand having lost all moisture, the river is flowing. I saw a deserter from the dungeon singing outside of the train. Rain is seeping out of the tunnel wall. Hangs from the ceiling, the deserter is sleeping. He was drunk on whiskey. 

Je bois

Dès que j’ai des loisirs

Pour être saoul, pour ne plus voir ma gueule

Je bois

Sans y prendre plaisir

Pour pas me dire qu’il faudrait en finir*

I surely heard the sound of trumpet. A night club is on an intersection at the tunnels. Piano and accordion accompaniment echoes. The buzz of a strip show passes the metro station. I saw the magic stick of an illusionist flickering in the darkness. Closing time! Closing time! The wizard of illusions says the last train will come. The deserter woke up and jumped on a subway, ran away. I hear the sound of the sand dunes in a dry town being washed away. Below the horizon, everything must be a mirage of water.

…

hiromi suzuki is a poet, fiction writer and artist living in Tokyo, Japan. She is the author of Ms. cried – 77 poems by hiromi suzuki (Kisaragi Publishing, 2013), logbook (Hesterglock Press, 2018), INVISIBLE SCENERY (Low Frequency Press, 2018), Andante (AngelHousePress, 2019), Found Words from Olivetti (Simulacrum Press, 2020), Ephemera (Colossive Press, 2021). Double solo exhibition with Francesco Thérès visual HAIKU | OLIVETTI poems was held in Rome, 9 ～30 September 2021.

Quotation: *Je Bois by Boris Vian