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
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Featured Image via Year of the Monkey