I
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
Smallness.
II
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.
III
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.
-nocode