Lon-don-City-Beat

There's no refuge for lonesome ghosts.
The world implores for a giant grip, the highest shallow dive.
Cashmere sale fifty percent off.
Swallowed by Swallow street.
Impotent fresh meat on the market store window.
Writing flying high, climbing brick wall cracks.
Friends crawling out cages, high on LCD flashlights.
Growing under a thousand fantasy bubbles, dreams, strikes.
Fresh borrowed mega-metropolitan lifestyle and cheap coffee-shops.
Down-beat black market gizmos, corners and pavements.
Asian type lack of privacy on lazy rooftops.
Superficial awareness between two glimpses on colorful paper.
Vibrating up-beats of serenity in the cold chill.
Regular labyrinth of square patterns.
Cargo cults calling for fake rituals, gods trembling traces on the vibe.
Plastic tits on cardboard box megaliths of pseudo-underground pathways.
Escapist recursive ideologies unified in a stream.
Several bits of paper on the windshield hiding literal stories rather metaphorical.
Intellectual conversations with a newspaper article.
Alternating blonde-brunette sweating amazons with hairy forearms on meditation trance repeating esoteric mantras
  while rush hour drives madness on its trails.
and blonde eastern bitch shouting on the ether.
Incomprehensible...

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