London Feels Like

The smell of asphalt and people
through metal veins, 
into brick temples, 
obediently praying
to the Network

Significance, ineffable
mostly trampled by glass, light, and money
occasionally caricatured, begrudgingly
rarely, fleetingly

collage of Architecture
cascading Futures
cancerously invading each other

but the trains run on time, 
and you can always get
where you want to go

Young and beautiful
the cream of a generation
striding confidently
on polished wingtips
and 4-inch heels
into the Gene Thresher

A Universe
like all the Bliss and Anguish
of a million lifetimes
live on this block

Effortless enormity, 
massively, deliberately Horizontal
with arbitrary hiccups of Vertical

like someone forgot
to remind everyone
they’re human


Was this poetry? 

My tea is cold…

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