Streets of Mankind

Flashing of neon red lights,
the most ancient of the profession ...
stairway to heaven or hell?
Rain is pouring,
cannabis is burning ...
excitement or addiction?
Sun is shinning,
homeless man are sleeping ...
unfairness or laziness ?
Beggars of the streets,
four limbs and sometimes clean clothes,
workers of syndicate or slave of themselves?

Petals Soul

It's spinning,
spinning in from the edge of the earth.
He sits, looking out at the endless space,
a blueberry milkshake; not so well shaken.
A man and a shade,
one depth and he breathes ...
gasping through the air of survival,
and resurface where the imaginary silent is.