A poem to a busker

I found this poem and I think the poet has some good observations about busking.
The lack of capital letters is in the original.

a poem to a busker

have you been a busker
or ever stood like one
with your back against a wall
and watched the strange parade
of the street on a saturday night?
it’s like stepping outside the world –
as curiously removed as an angel.
how obsessively each person is
convinced by their own life.
the way desire is an atmosphere,
a kind of blood and wind.
and they throw coins occasionally
like acts of faith, not quite prayers,
to the invisible music while
the angels against the wall
keep watching, keep playing
amused and threatened
and as invisible as music
in the B-grade neon gush
in the celebrity of night.

anon