Have you ever had the street for conversation and watched time fly, hit and run?
From a High Newyork Balcony,
the future becomes an army of drones and struggles
making everyone a whore for digits.
You watch closely, as excuses work double shifts and ants count the money in their wallets.
People become cars on a road which with time narrows,
roughens, even dissapears.
And the Past is a home no one wants to go back to
a place that one takes away from and a safe for quiet times
So quiet,
that humans wake up every day, turning down lazy requests,
hiding behind 6 inch screens
ready for a long walk.
In shoes that aren’t their size.