In the towering canyons 
of the cold glass empire
a sunburst reflection of the sky
glints back in a street kids eye.

Buskers and beggars getting strange:
the man with lights on his head collects cans;
crooked lipstick lady holds court with herself;
Air guitarist in an imaginary world
a no-chord recording artist in a tuneless void.

A blackfoot vagrant just hanging around
got his routine, it's perfectly sound
on another frequency that can't be found.