Post apocalyptic balcony number 12

Kid Carl he stands,
And walks,
In a direction,
Away,
From Mong Kok,
Away from all he knows.
To Sha Tin.

The road a ribbon
Revolves under his feet.
The peripheral mountains pass by,
Amah Rock, unmanned tonight,
Observes in silent tears.

His chemically empty legs
Move like solid wooden trunks.
Each step a desperate step
To somewhere afresh.

The white lines move on
Rhythmically slow.

Mountains move by
Offering little comfort,
A silhouette against
City illuminated sky.

City lights become no nearer.

Soon The Blocks begin to pass by.
With Scattered lights.
Heads turn away;
And feet follow away.

A gentle fizzing light,
A low bass hum,
Aside,
A wall unlit by broken
Lamp
Offers a place to slump.

(the gentle fizzing light of the lazy orchid)

Leaving London Town (soon).

The job decision decided. The London job fell through, at the last moment. My cards played for me. It's off to Hong Kong in five or six weeks. Scary stuff, 'How does one go about emigrating?' I guess this blog will provide the answers over the next few weeks.

It should be exciting, but it feels lonely. I'll be leaving someone who has my heart. I'll be leaving many friends who have my joy. Naturally my first thought was to go and see my heart's harbor. So I popped downstairs, jet bike keys in hand. The engine on my jet bike is broken, so I power it using an assorted collection of happy birthday balloons and a hand held fan. Luckily the wind was with me; the journey shouldn't take too long.

Balloons inflated, fan switched to full – I set off...

Drifting over London's sky line is amazing, I'm not sure whether people have ever landed at Heathrow, it's one of the best plane landings in the world. I float down Kennsington High Street, passed the anti-social police who search the pockets of homeless people, before moving them on. Passed a collection of gaudy and predictable consumer havens. Passed the tube station; which I try to avoid. High above Hyde Park, where I sometimes run circumnavigating the Beautifully Baroque Albert Hall, home to concerts and smiles.

Over Marble Arch, with statues of ripped hero's of old on stallions. Tall Georgian business districts, beautiful but inaccessible, wave to the Queen at The Palace, pass down bustling oxford street, Christmas songs already playing for shoppers (maybe I need some ball bells for my tree). Glass shop windows display what you 'can' have through an impenetrable barrier. The far reaching chimney pot skyline of a beautiful city.

Themes slipping through London to my side. Days of old it delivered money to the banking district, now optical connections do that. Glass monoliths that influence The World. Train lines that go everywhere. Trendy east London, tight jeans and hair cuts, pubs and bars where I often smile and dance with friends. I set the jet bike down in Bethnal Green, lock it to an iron fence painted black, opposite The Buddhist Center.

I ring the door bell, lucky guess the password, take the lift upstairs, heart beating, hands sweaty. Curry ingredients in hand.

I'll miss London Town, but I want to leave happy. I feel my heart will be harbored for eons to come.