in the evening
the last shadows of trees
and apartment buildings
reorganize themselves
this vast city becomes once again
a semi-desert
laden with brush
a scatter of cowboys rides across it
not even the best of us
perceives a pattern
in their meanderings
two of them encounter each other
cross words lead to gunshots
and one rides away
the other slowly dies
and the meandering non-pattern continues
it took true visionaries
to see a city in this place
a city so vast it imports everything
food, water, air
and can barely cope with its excretions
a congregation of neighborhoods
in some of which
money flows and combines and burgeons
thrives, flourishes, spills over
in some of which
money is a memory between Fridays
and in most of which
money is the balm for terror
that any day the overflow might stop
and all the good things blow away
leaving the people without jobs
gutshot
like that cowboy
No comments:
Post a Comment