There’s a city in my head. I can feel it
pounding out its solid stoic drumming
during the hours of the night that my body,
lying supine but not at rest, aches for
something intangible that I know I will never get.
It’s kept away from me by faulty electrical wires,
the city in my head has a bad mayor who seems to care
quite a lot about the property but couldn’t give two
shits about whether or not the residents can turn their
lights on and off, wonder who appointed him.
There’s a city in my head. Sometimes an emergency vehicle
paves a new pathway through the streets and I stop in the mid-
dle of eating my pasta, feeling the tension of the city rise,
the whole population waiting with bated breath to see who’s
house caught fire, who had a heart attack, who got stabbed.
There’s a city in my head. Alive and frequent as a heartbeat
Pulsating and pulchritudinous, it lives on and I allow it.
Each morning brings a soft low cloud to the tops of the buildings,
bathing those in the penthouses in a pure white bouquet of opportunity.
For the many down below, it offers a vision of chopping off the tops,
making what is complicated and man-made, simplistic and smaller,
a chance to feel that the world is not so big all of the time, that
giant things can be made effortless if given the correct perspective.