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….