The gleam of the skyscraper is like sunlight on a pond glimpsed through trees or a free and joyous river
I am thirsty, yet I have no desire to drink. The well is poisoned.
The towering architecture opens to the marvels of modernity; their shining windows reveal the revered throne rooms of CEOs, and workers tapping away an army of ants to ensure order, according to their rules and handbooks but above all by uncertain individuals watching those around them.
And the violence of their tapping keyboards and polite emails and the penthouses to which they aspire the life of a bank throbbing through the steel skeleton of a building that is larger than life, larger than those left to die trying to get some sleep in the streets kicked in the ribs by police a different kind of life haunts their heartbeats.
The city has swallowed its own streets and sidewalks and spits out skeletons bones dry from its desperate extraction ****** to dust to coat that shining cityskape, the sweat and blood drained from pores to make the steel and the glass drips away slowly, revealing only dust.
The well is poisoned - I am dying of thirst - I wonder which death will be less painful