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.
Copyright © Jak Woods | Year Posted 2009
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