Earnest young men trying to photograph the essence of the city

educators ask

“What’s an archaeologist?”

 the rush of polluted blood

The enthusiastic historian cracks on

Someone cackles

‘Ein jeder Engel ist schreklich’

While todays builders grind the city to paste

Gross Development Ideal

Chilled hopeless couples 

Silhouettes of birds,
Arctic Terns gather in a backroom of a bar
 some small town in the America of your imaginations

A hand grips the glass of bourbon, it goes up, and it comes down

Flickering neon

A cracked pianist
looping despair busted radio receiver

Great joy from those out of focus days

What is clear are the smiles

Walls collapsing under the weight of memory 

That guy on the saxophone once again

Every night the same

The lobby bar, the business folk drifting milling out of range

Chilled hopeless

Sorry for angry words kids

“Its not fair”