Particular Moments

The City is indeed a peculiar place to be—

it is a eco-chamber that sources its

raw goods from outside its borders,

and in return, never manage to return any

fruition of equal liveliness or consequence;

it is a mischievous juicer

that spits out yellowy-green puss, putrid waste

from the best apples and oranges

innocently fed into it;

it is its own twisted mega-church,

with its organs always blasting

on high volume—

deafening drones of motorized something’s;

heart-wretching screams of lost Souls,

with all of their needless violence and commotions;

it is a rotting garden of surprises:

festering garbage lodged uncomfortably

into crevices better served for other purposes;

dog shit, or those of humans and the alike,

left behind for invisible, miracle cleaning crews;

broken parts of otherwise wholesome constructs,

carpeting the roads’ medians

and their left and right side walks—

.

When putting all of its saucy elements in view,

it indeed looks quite like

a bewildering, if not entirely mad arrangement

for Man to gravitate to.