He walks with smiles through spills of budging mumblers
shorn of locks. The sandy tiles reflecting
talking chins. Encompassing music falls
like sleet. A shiny road bordered fiercely
with shops. The staff, like soldiers after war
patrolling fields of cloudy gory jewels.
And in the street they dress as superman
with forms and forceful laughter they descend
and rip the pennies from the bashful kind
for beasts and babies. The photogenic sluts
adorning all their posters with their tears.
He watches from a window safe and separate.
And then he sees the girl with hairy tits
fading through the crowd. She swats his eye
and quickly turns away. He keeps on walking
towards the nearest sliding doors. A modern
miracle of glass that often jams.
Then air conditioning wheezes like a slave.
And in the cafe with a tea and keyboard
he taps away and empties vibeing brain cells
out on the screen. They look like suited chimps
all woolly, dense and dressed up for a party.
He overhears a woman loudly moaning
about the price of coffee. He hates bitches
with that tone of voice. He hits full stop.