Words don't add up

Instead of poetry, here are unassembled thoughts, texted to myself on my escape from work on Christmas eve:

Ornamental remnants of a city, a chorus line of cranes, and vain totems reflected in the driver less trains. A blushing and blue sky behind domes and cubes
Aeroplanes and stooping shelters, desert buildings watching skymakers, New markets and fresh fish, old towns remain on station boards, adverts and stripped trees, corporate art and design. As I listen to Simon and garfunkel on my way to my son's first Christmas
Offices defying fading light, setting sun on homes afloat, boats on an oasis, just tangled footsteps off the beer garden. Containers unloaded, renovated, inhabited. Preferred to bricks. Burrowing into the vaults.on foot through yellowed warrens, clockmakers and cleaners like embedded fossils, emerging on foot to see Santa demobbed and running from a darkened city.