These never-sleeping
Never-moving giants
Erected to the glory
Of 'CITY' stand around
Like hairs-on-end on
The back of the wolf
That bathes between
The Hudson and The East
With twin-tower ears
On edge in wary half-
Slumber, its bridging
Limbs outstretched to
Four children, burrowed,
And its nose to the sea,
And I stand, less than
A flea on the back, and
Smell its musk and
Taste its blood and
Feel its harsh motherly
Love to all its teeming,
Parasitic millions, and
I again feel my intense


Some obnoxious bitch on the bus
Tries to find an appropriate
Ring for her cellular cancerbox,
Appropriately selecting the
Most beligerant and grating
Cacophony she can obtain.
And the people glare.


Standards of civil
Coldness breach the
Sense of trust that
Could exist, if not
For desperate acts
On the part of jealous,
Down-pressed victims
Of the society they
Turn on in turn to
Victimize. They don't
Realize. They can't
Stop. They refuse to
Not take part in a
Self-destruction gone
Mass-destruction, as
This city eats itself
Alive in co-canibalizing
Ritual rational suicide.
It's pride.


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