Street elf

Cycling your mean accounts
and hit counts on iPhone
blue nausea analytics
of the same old thing
when dusk comes
light laving the grey flats
a crack in the hedge or
street elf, sylvan-eyed
sharp as a smashed bottle
all complex edges
Secret ink-stamped
on his open palm
he spies you, says
Live life to the full;
you would not know how
but surfing the skirl
close-packed crowds
you could spark a match on
shield the lisped flare
this red bus black cab
merry-go-round
you come round
from the hard anaesthetic
the world's lumpen core
zilched like a spent screen
and there you are, real
on hope's wave length
its pirate crackle you might
grasp what you're after
or on the road to find out
an indie heart oystered
from a grist of light
shrill horns, shouts
leaning on this traffic lamp
you gaze up Princes Street.

@ianjmclachlan