walking down atlantic

the buildings are rising up into the air every day and every day the sky seems to be getting shorter by a condo level. the furniture along atlantic could dorm a nation what with its antique bureaus and swirly carpets and horoscope machines and weight scales and chimey chandeliers and faded globes and managable robots; could dorm a nation sleeping on the ground with useless clutter scattered round. even still, the plants could keep these people breathing green and healthy oxygen. at least atlantic values plants. rays new orleans bistro and brewtaha caribbean accent cafe are right round the way from hoyt street and yet for some reason the spanish wine was pursued at the american place while all desires are to leave this country. oh la la francias and a candle light. fingertips settling soothingly upon each other's skin, reach in and breath from the other's eyes whatever you look to un-despise. what is underneath all this fuss and folk telling, is there anything below that needs to be told? besides the infinite lies which exist until dispelled by persistance and consistantcy, the world remains an empty drum, in the frigid cold hoping for all the books to be sold. some know about the cola products and its means around the streets but for those who are aghast from such mess, it is a chest of interest. crossing the street takes a week unless the strangers' eyes meet and each nods and one smiles and then it might seem that love can travel through space; yet, so easily erased, we must chase such idealistic taste.
if you saw a man painting the outside of your building without addressing to those special instances of sight that you are acutely aware of daily, would you tell him the secrts of the inside of that building, past those windows, that he, the outside painter, is missing?