There is a thickness to the air here.
It deepens the colors of the sunset
to make up for the way it hides behind skyscrapers;
masses of brick and glass that join the sky at right angles,
Like Atlas and his children
and all his children's children gathered together
to hold up the earth we created,
The sky we created,
With all our city smells of restaurants
and power plants
and cigarettes.
Of course we’re addicted

We are all constellations
Traced from the electric lights we substitute for stars
Even though we know we cannot replace them.
We have to remind ourselves
There are stars out there somewhere,
There are stars out there somewhere,
There are scars out there somewhere,
There are scars somewhere,
And they bleed out of peaceful park fountains and
The city grew roots around them,
Fluorescent scar tissue pumping subway cars through
Tangled arteries carrying passengers
That are fifty-seven percent coffee, add a turbo shot of Business suit and
a serving of secondhand smoke.
Of course we’re addicted

There is a thickness to the air here.
It deepens the colors of the sunrise,
But we cannot see it from below the ground.
Of course we’re addicted