Second part of a Two-Part poem about the rise and decay of a city.
PART 2 or 2
II.
My body is a cemetery.
My mind,
an abandoned mine.
Resources harvested,
precious stones pummeled.
Only stalagmites remain,
jutting out of the ground.
My skin,
a scourge of
ash and soot. Scorched
Earth, bereft of culture.
Traditions exhausted
by toxic habits, culture
killed by propaganda.
My veins,
arid and congested,
varicose roads and clogged
intersections, blood clots
pooled in carpool lanes,
drivers with no regard
to their contribution
to my disease.
My lungs,
blackened and hollow,
bronzed bronchioles
stiffened by smoke,
trachea sundered,
torn down in place
of condos, high rises.
My body,
a condom wrapper,
fucked out of being
the greatest city.
A city that never was.
Soul on Fire 