Thoughts> London Cocoon

The people at Heathrow Airport
are more beautiful than the people at Stanstedt Airport.

In London there are many of these brackets
and they are clear and marked by certain
amalgamations of brands, cars, styles of music
like
before you get into the Land Rover and Porsche territory
from the streets parked with Opel Corsas and Fiat Puntos
it's sport Minis, big Golfs and Mercedes E-class for a few blocks
as the middle class struts its rainbow plumage
in all colors of metallic silvers, graphite and shiny black

London is the metropolis of all the villages in the world
chained together and sprawling and spread out
and with boundaries that are as
intangible as the global accents in laughter
echoing the walls on Saturday nights
oscillating as the whims of the interior design community
yet immutable by any a pair of hands you'll ever see in the daylight

Roaming betwixt and within these borders are
the latest, the neatest, the greatest
having come to live the flux that threatens to become a limbo
the constant movement in circles not being much better than
potential immobility
with the exception of keeping the mind occupied and the legs likewise
in a loop of intention with deficient deliberation
spending so much on jeans and designer mojitos
they are suddenly too poor to pay any attention

So, within London there are towns and borders and streets
parked with varying cars
and the walls reverberate an exotic laughter
and this is all very good
and not everyone needs to be in the loop
or in the wheel
as the City keeps rolling around and reinvents itself
South the River or in Hackney for a change
and if one takes a slow walk through these faces
some young, some old, some already asleep and waiting to be awakened
they can run their cold fingers along
the light fine fabric that wraps it all up
an essence of this collection of hamlets and sheds and people in motion
and feel the quaint vibration
the anxious caress that envelopes and gyrates around one and around all.