lamped

hard for visitors
believers of old
those lamps
sold

dark and mystery
in the small hall
shy pink cheeks
at the corners

numbers vary
atmospheres
now blinding cold
folded pages

streets of absolute
muted homes
at best
untold

lamps our flutes
the style only
voices cry
out

awaiting next bus
might consider
a lotto ticket
but later
later

feel consumed
pleasure is out
there and shining
alors je suis si...