I pray that the city is a germ
spreading up from the bottom of the country
to infect me
again.

I let the architecture of her name
multiply out from the clock holes
and throughout the day.

Her uniforms have no gender
and change every time
tourists on the back of workers backing out
travelling along a giant line of tattooed
buildings with derelict spaces that hold
a strange light to my loading eyes.

Normal as the silence in a taxi-cab
empty of people, but a place that has
become
a familiar mural
to me; a night that is concentrated
and stream line
over weight with art and adhd.

Streets continuing when bored and often robbed,
and transport that never stops.