Under the streets was the sky above,
A bitter taste left no air abound,
Known was he who threw all disarray,
Flaneur is he how idle a shadow kept,
Breathed the creases a still night,
This wind brought round and round,
It was a thought and he was night,
Under the lake he’ll swim to dive,
Alas he knows not to swim but shall,
It wasn’t his will but hence partake;
For, to do is not to be born to be,
Legs clapsed in stems no thorn brew,
Now he’ll strike himself utter blow,
Elastic he is this soul is new sight,
Only dark his eyes so fine can blind,
More is more the form of life signed,
Is pity muster a thought be deigned,
He would leave his soul by the leaves,
A river to take and carry this away,
Why not, all humility then is escaped,
Neither recess nor fickle eyes glowed,
It was just a thought that only passed,
Whispers a name once his heart pressed,
Where was he? Now only darkness is his,
Just this one thought to proceed next,
‘Neath the tears lay dried salt to dry,
Thoughts exactly his mind a mortal enemy,
Ne breached the line that he is swept,
Then will walk through another thought,
Shall be the next when to feel is real,
That he is shall not haunt him to be.