A wise man told me that my body was full of dirt
And that that was a good thing,
Because only the dead stay clean.
Look up at the buildings
Tall and proud and bright
Observe their perfect symmetry
Reflect the morning light,
“Are they alive?”
Stare into the sun with open eyes
As it skims across the sky
Full of good and life
It will sink among the monoliths
Weighed down by their lies.
It will shatter on their points
Not like glass
But like light
Cast upon a prism that breaks
Into a million brilliant colors,
Whose shards will fall in turn on the minds
Of the slumbering,
Where seeds of hue and tone grow
On strange and lonely dreams.
They will store those dreams in cans of aerosol,
Stockpiling the surreal until a time that is not now,
And when later is now,
When the clouds obscure the stars,
They will set them free
Vectors of a rainbow infection
That will wrap first around the abandoned warehouses
With tendrils of neon script.
It will live
And it will grow,
Sending down roots through the tunnels
And blossoming murals that will climb
Along the bridges like shining vines.
Which is later than previously,
Look back and see
The sun creep up
On the living city.