So it’s something, and it shrieks
from polyurethane blanketed corners
to the oncoming waves of population.
Their mouths are shaped like cuttlefish,
their eyes are shaped like whiskey stills.
Of course, there are unskilled laborers
of every tone and texture.
They keep the measure going,
the system scowling, and the wealthy fattened.
They keep their crooked hands motivated
by batting back their betterment.
It’s a weird settlement to be in
or a part-of. I’ve been in weirder,
but a peculiar discourse takes place daily
between the buildings
and the streets that lead them.
One imagines a vivid wind of steeds
bludgeoning its way up the sea.
There’s also some kind of wonder
that belches through the copper wire stars.
I love the way the moon reacts to this.
And the smoldering capsule
of human achievement fixed in the skyline;
Beauty if you can find it.