Parts of the city

Here are walls built around me and it’s kind of humorous that they prevent me from being in a place where there are more walls around me.


Black jackets, white snow, gray walls, rusty tracks, flickering lights



I am a single cell



One way pathway, shop windows and subtle silent street lights


And individual particle, comporting messages down neurological pathways, hoping to chemically bond with my surroundings

With a singularly cellularly fantastic rush



When I look up I expect to see an airship jut beyond the skyscrapers

Business is conducted as usual, whatever fantastic economic baton and hand sways directs the winds and strings



Feel it breath, it’s alive



I am a single cell, feeding the teeming Breen urban arcology

Like so many others

I flux, I pluse and drain and exude

Ventricles and umbilicals, stretching out to reach souls far flung to foreign bodies.

Anything this elestatic must either snap or recoil.

I’m a peculating roundabout
A rambunctious pot of coffee
A mob mentality singularity
An urban orgasmic thrash of overcrowding
Desired despite the decay

I cannot identifty myself in the lineup officer
Too many years of imaginatively idealizing my form have left me
horribly misunderstanding myself

Timbuktu bags and bicycles in winters whiskyied death cold breaths
I hear angels singing from the fireescapes, see beautifull forests of scaffolding, canyonlands of intersections and rivers teaming with pedestrians and vicious automobiles

And then that song plays, and it all….