Into the void of roads
of harvests
and to the road that separates us
You walk
to the mechanical hand of thought
to the clotted sound
of decorative temptations
To the art of seeing
with wandering eyes
in the streets around you
Random syllables of sanity from my subterranean barometric life
Into the void of roads
of harvests
and to the road that separates us
You walk
to the mechanical hand of thought
to the clotted sound
of decorative temptations
To the art of seeing
with wandering eyes
in the streets around you