New York City Blues

The terminal prophesised an eternal line of moving faces arriving at their destination, mothers hold their screaming babies as the business guys drank their coffee like insomniac puppets on strings valleys n lagoons of young children and elderly folk all moved in a singular motion to a melee of sound buzzing above their heads a hubbub of civilisation on soap dish. Back to life with the old soul and the funky dollar bill like genoas khan lost in new York city with new York city blues, watching the jet planes fly above the mass of buildings circling the weather stations in New Orleans in autumn winds and summer rain in Chicago floating like clouds with its over whelming usual conscience Towering over towers of old motor’s with junk yard hands on the dog and the women drinking buds swearing at a elderly man for having a faulty back tire on his bike and the look of hell shaved fear on his face, used to be in Korea and nam probably still thinks he is.