Sixth look

People look at me

When they walk through

The foreign and removed

himself as a surprising through

lions ...



The streets are empty,

dirt smell of virgin

stolen by the night

And I go over and over again

towards the unknown the mystical

body of a god ...



I move away from world

as a stone bird of lowland rain

Which collapsed itself

always sad

always in pain...





Sometimes you like an angel of love

Like a stranger in hold ...



What an outcry from unknown crawd

Avoiding me

And ask me

Where it goes?

Does there are stars, shadows, snow

Or just one-which it expects kissing nostalgic

In the same way as a lizzard

a cold piece of  stone ?