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
