Night-time stream

Slidin'and yet still
like the sick reflex
of the dim light
on a summer stream
and joyful as an halfmoon
night
while a twisted sound
of far scrap irons
I dragged my cloak
above the semi-detached houses'
world
often gettin'entangled
in the dissolute & hazy glances
of the night people
pf the wild animals
of the quick heartbeats
of the uneven paths
Hardly pickin'up
the tired overflows
of sequins & glitters
A sudden touch
painfully happenned
the rattlin'
of the madmen's speech
a little head bended
down-a ceremonious
& hypocritally comfortin'
smile
But anyway in the middle occurs
the frustrating mother
of all wishes
to remind the hate
she stores in her nook
-ready to be used-
and the bone she throws in the mire
so that the illusion
doesn't vanish
so that you rush out of breath
to catch your last train
and realize it has just left
so that you can(dream of)
goin'far beyond
the nettle barrier
of the superficial friendship
So that you can then
shield yourself
from that
slippin'again
into your cotton shroud
So that you can yeld
to the obscene purposes
made by your absent-minded ego
and then discoverin'exactly
how many burns
it collected.
So that you can start again
runnin' &  goin' without watchin'
zigzagin' towards the small shop
of the cheap habits
'cause I don't know
any high-class one
I spent so much(money)to buy
this strange myself
I've not searched for 
for such a long time...