On my way to more pizza, bagels and “fuck yous”

that rise like subway smoke from the depths of a contradiction –

An artistic cry in a capitalist high rise –

a pantomime of life

in dead veins of the gentrified.

The quiet behemoths –

the steel sentinels –

watching over our folly

hanging

from purse strings of empire.

 

 

This is part of a new series called “Poetry Plates” that I may turn into a book…

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