Urban Still Life
A formation of stoned giants
An’ the pavement full of bodies
and reflected in the blinds
men and women walking hotly.
Advertising shields they promise
in the heaven to take pleasure,
in a multistory hospice – folks –
they cannot be at leisure.
Fumed flesh waits for a vacation.
‘Cause of petrol burnt in air,
there is only one salvation –
wine to buy at where it’s near.
Nerves of streets you ever scorch
to the innermost of brain.
Fortune carries here a torch
for a winner in the game.
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