The City and the Stars

The city is there regardless,

enormous in its conceit,

blank as the stare of a beggar,

hard as a skyscraper's teeth.

 

The city is full of power.

Claim it with credit or cash.

Electrons racing to .

Engines igniting the past.

 

The city is always laughing

at those it harbors and shuns.

The city is rich as a bakery,

thin as a trail of blood.

 

The city is small as an insect,

immense as the life it contains,

adrift in space like a beacon,

devoured by time and decay.

 

The city is very terrestrial,

dark and light as it comes.

Stars are strictly for backdrop,

eclipsed by the neon suns.
 

 (Frist appeared in The Pedestal Magazine)