Friday, September 3, 2010

Post apocalyptic balcony number 3

Wrinkled faces, caught by time
Push hawker carts
Slow shouting procession
The smell of noodles
Chicken stock, vinegar and soy.
Steam locomotion
Keep off the floor
The smell of rotting garbage
Sewage and sweat
Olds lie homeless
Stepped over by youth.

Thronging masses
Packed tight like legends
Tell of salmon.

Street level, forgotten level, people level
Alive level
Way below enclosed, excluded
Restaurant arcades.
Up above
From surgery come fresh guffaws
Fake as display noodles
Bi weekly sex changes
Make for interesting affairs.
This one guy
Could fuck his own arse
Grafted a pussy
Over his shitter
Cause he liked his dick to smell
In the gym locker room.

Wealth determines height above
Piss stained trousers
Sex menus
And bathtub narcotics.

Dr Jim, pimp and pusher
Looks down and out over his users
Plexiglass separation
Gold watch, two links to big
Falls visually onto hand
Coal black suit
Too crisp to be cheap
Data streamed straight
To his optic nerve
New tech implants
Can't even be found
At Sam Shui Po.

His eyes catch a kid,
New on Nathan Road.
Biking through crowd
Dr Jim doesn't know
It's KidCarl's first roll
For the Mong Kok Boys tonight

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