Lower Manhattan

Filthy Rich

Photo by Luka Reedy on Unsplash

Thanks God, for not speaking to us.
Unforeseeable mirrors portrayed a parallel reality, maybe where I wanted to just fall and befriend destiny. Probably not.

Puddles of mud, were vital.. to remind the pedestrian of how far humanity stood from mother earth's nipples thirst, grabbed by the digital work neck stiffness, refusing to gaze the familiar danger of metro ice cream useless commercials, on a grey day, nobody seemed to bother, the police officer had to be put a sign instead of waving a goodbye gesture.

Orthodox, a surprisingly rich refrigerator.
It pays off to speak to God.
Some bitter cucumbers were thrown away, needlessly to cry a holocaust rhyme of yesterday's hunger, comfortable bellies just leaning to the front, hiding the concrete pond I ignored but cheap birds, and I don’t like brown small and cheap birds that do not know how to sing (and dance like Brazilian Carnival Bronze Age, I missed history class but thought I should mention that before my trial, do you get it? Mercy on me) cheap city birds still had a sip and a little rain dance, I was apple device mute on my way to a hand-made-jail. I didn’t raise a finger to help, but two fingers I did stuff in the other side of someone's mouth that just couldn’t shut up.

Think positive beach.
It’s all you need to water.
In a gray day.