We shall echo the points that scrape the skies
Above the streams of Wonder City.
On the streets below, men shall shift through time,
Watched on by soaring concrete.
And in the steaming sewers strewn beneath
These streets— O Wonder City!—
Rats shall run the labyrinth of the sewers
To find the traces of a world
Before the streets of Wonder City.

I sit in complete silence for a moment
Not of the world but to myself
My glasses closed up on a table
Looking up to a world of blurry

Lights that are still and moving
Lights that are as bright as the stars
Eye of the day, eyeing me down
Metropolis of eyeing lights

I should feel a familiar feeling
A welcome home to the old and known
A welcome to a world I've bid farewell
From which I've turned and taken my leave

I am trapped by skyscraping bars
I am scrutinized like a labrat
Harsh and cold white billboard lights
The microscopic bend of mall mirrors

The overbearing heat of the sun
Oppressive heat, foot on my back
I lie exposed to the elements
A sun kept alive by artificiality

Beautiful downtown Atlanta
Sunny, blue, cloudless sky
Tall, wide, massive buildings
Window glass glistening in the sun
Beautiful, well-dressed people
Gainfully employed people
Taking care of business people
Running essential errands
Contributing to the community
Pursuing positive, purposeful lives.

I take in the sights, sounds, smells
Sounds of people walking, talking
Engines revving and car horns
Smells of restaurants and fast food vendors
Engine exhaust and overheated brakes
The feel of the sidewalk
Under my expensive dress shoes
The heat of the sun on my face and neck
The exciting hustle and bustle
Of a thriving metropolis.

A faint “Please, sir. . .” reaches my ears
And a homeless man appears
*****, disheveled, hirsute
“Please, sir. Could you. . .”
His weak speech trails off
As I divert my eyes, quicken my pace
Ignoring his petty pleas
As he disappears in my wake
Bothersome soul, good riddance
Why doesn’t the city do something?

Days later the encounter haunts me
I was so proud of the way I handled myself
How easy it was to dismiss a soul in need
Months later the encounter haunts me
Instead of the clever human
I had become cruel, inhuman
Unfeeling, unkind, uncaring
Years later the encounter still haunts me
Never will it ever happen again
Never. . . ever.

There's a storm coming.
Within hours, its arrival will go unannounced
But the few who are destined for the change
Can feel it brewing just under the surface
Between the quiet conversations
A constant hum, a reminder of the forgotten
Continues to pulse through the veins
Silence, floating above the metropolis
Ready to blanket the movement in a suffocating still
The forces of the unknown act swiftly, careful in its oblivion
Truth be told, there is some quality to having something to hold on to.
Something to tether you back to reality,
It gives you assurance that this life is more than just a simulation
Hope of the possibility to slowly pass through the barren wastelands of this
Technological underdevelopment.
The world has seemingly lost its value
Let the storm wipe out what is left of this society.
The few who were meant to be will remain.
I'm ready for the shift for nothing to be the same.

A city is nothing but a menagerie
caging different shades of insanity
dusty streets, concrete tombs, lingerie
costumes shooting up profanity

Here I stand
no shade of dignity
*** of cash in hand
shaded with apathy

Things I do with these creatures
in the concealing night
a spoon and a woman, double feature
finished and feeling contrite

Cross the bridge to leave the zoo
back to my normal life
conscience I must subdue
while I lay down next to my wife

I am sorry
I just miss the thrill
I am sorry
I just miss the feel
I am sorry
I just miss the comforts of the landfill
and the parroting comatose safaris

Metropolitans **** sensitivity
Cold concrete we stomp with our feet
Glare a path straight above you
Disregard the eyes that surround you
Keep moving and pushing through the pain
We're so hardened we don't even feel the wetness of the rain
We can't AFFORD to feel
There's no time to even feel real
An emotionless society
We drown our sorrows away
**** sobriety
Numb us whole
Our hearts hollow and dark,
just like a hole

A rude dawn over the city
Where Pepys once fought with his beautiful wife
After seducing whatever servant-girl chanced
To be around, where kings
First ruled from cold castles full of cockroaches,
Murderous cousins
Lurking through the baleful halls of history
Eyeing the empty throne. The stinking
River long shorn of fish sweeps elegantly before
The crimson petticoats of multiple ******
Promenading along Thames Street,
Winking at under-washed gallants.

Vauxhall gardens a pithy cavalcade of priests and doxies,
Of flower girls, flaxen haired girls selling fruit,
Anxious to reach home before the ****** hour of early
Evening when beaus gather in alley ways establishing
A testosterone gauntlet in the dust-spawned gloom.

The road to Tyburn is littered with lost hopes!
On hanging day bodies swung like debutantes dancing
To jazz tunes-
Aristocrats quartered with precision squealed like common folk,
Bleeding as much. The city watched all this
And didn’t murmur-never complained-
Smiled, as only a city can smile, at gin-drunk matrons, pie eating aldermen
And the ****** activity in street shadows by relieved young women on
VE day 1945.

A veil has been pulled from my eyes
This place is where rainbows die

Promised land
Beautiful from afar and above
Your song pulled me in
Shipwrecked me on perfectly chiseled rock

This is where rainbows die

I see now
This place is a 100-story Zoo
Filled with sharks

Afraid that if they stand still
Just for a second
And smell the roses
They will surely die

Their sadness
Caged by concrete
Fences, locks, and labels

This is where rainbows die

Herds of one, chasing pots of gold
In all the wrong places

Can we ever hope to break the mold
Routines and purpose

A million voices crying out for connection
And no one willing to listen

Every brightly lit window a stage
Every man, woman, and child
A far-removed audience

As if color costs money
Surrounded by shades of grey
Ashen, set in rigor mortis

This is where rainbows die

So I say
Let us turn to the children

Let them
Rule our expensive city for a day

Let them
Capture a rainbow in their tiny hands
And paint the city with it

Let them show us that
Puddles are for jumping
And rain is for joyous dancing

Rise up once again
My fellow grown ups

And touch
The magic of the rainbow