Here we go, baby

Early city, hungry to conquer

The doors open but you

Ignore the beggar on the train

Weak grandfather eyes

As the herd swarms the streets, a mob

Symphony, taxi!, mosh-pit cocaine

Noises flashing

Deaf in the eyes

Feeling big, like its owner, its master

Facing the forest of glistening towers

That feels like magic, sex, success

Skyscraper-high from

Being on top

Dancing with both wolves and lambs,

Millionaires and homeless people

On the same corner

Sharing the same streets,

Benches

Twirling together

Refugees and bigots,

Spots and stripes

Stroll past cardboard beds

Where coffee cups,

Piss stains and wet blankets

Moon the stockbrokers, golf shirts,

Mercedes leather

In voiceless melancholy

You, head over heels

Whip around, sit back on the train

And melt into the silence

Of your own little world

As the beggar makes his final round

__

Featured Image via Year of the Monkey