Vibrant antebellum
In the city streets saturates the air
And pulls the attention of children
From the gutters everywhere

Aftermath, aftershock, after the end
Syndrome X inside a plastic cup
Bellicose cries from bleeding sores of media
Shrouded with burqa shadows as a necessary anesthesia

Where is the city and where is the state?
Invisible numbers counted with ink stained thumbs
Delicate piano sound, pale girl fingers
The scent of your fatigue still lingers

I’ve seen many beautiful things
One day, I’ll remember what they are
But for now their faces are stretched like plastic bags
Bound to tear at the bottom and eventually sag