numbers, e-mails, rosters

New York at noon
Streaks of men in black and briefcases.

A guy playing sax
Oh, how his long fingers carress every part
How it creates a white space
How it blurs the noise outside
Stillness rests upon the city
My ears hurt, my ears swell

Numbers, e-mails, rosters

A teardrop on my shoe
The bubble breaks, people pass by
In the streets of New York City.