Alone amongst the swirling streams
 of hurried footsteps
of urgent converstations
about nothing
going places far afield
to trade monotony
for a beautiful or different version
of the same.

I am still,
 among the churning masses,
I was there when all the chatter
of modern madmen fell to it's familiar hum,
backdrop for the amplified instructions
for  coming and going.
I am still here.

I had thought that I might board a plane,
follow the crowd for reasons I had never had before
but I just watch the steel winged doves take off and land,
hoping to write something eloquent
or insightful or meaningful
as I sip my mass produced  coffee,
immersed in mass produced idealism,
and fashion  run on sentences
into the sky.

Daydreams of India
and Eygypt
of Mayan temples
The beaches of Dieppe
The streets of Belfast
infinate places
I would rather be
than here
Now.