"BANDE A PART" - (The city of IS - La cité d'IS)

A WALK IN (surreal) SOUTH KENSINGTON

Sweet and tender, your cart is shiny, your house is mat.
Colors of a far-away see-side in the back of the city's brain,
Unconscious we are of such peaceful paved beauty.
Trees look like growing, parks make us dream of the non-privatized,
Nouns of provincial manners we would reintegrate dearly
As the powerful grows and tends to dream together
Creeping in the hintergrund of a hundertwasser complex
Is the dear tree we all view so tenderly,
Flirting with a rich I's roots in thinking.

A Ballad in a locked city, open space of the I,
The city of Is, the island of Is, made one cry,
A shiny diamond in a locked cage lost in a dream
That of the sleeping beauty of East London, the cream.

Waking up in or out, no keys for the street,
the pavement is locked in to the ground,
A stranger had the key, and as the legend puts it,
The city was engulfed in dreams of Is,
in an Island of Is we cannot see, lost in common ground
amongst the trees of our neighbor's private garden,
Where no grass touches our skin, soft.
No ants wiggle around our toes, small.

Walking in a myth is not a lie,
Beautiful, dual, London on a trial,
Surface of an industrial state at the margins
of a frame persecuted by hidden dreams.
No worries, London is sleeping,
as the City of IS was the night of its drowning...