Where is the beauty in the city?
The rough roads are stained by oil.
Ugly buildings
made of steel and glass
have no heart.
Prisons they are, an artist's
nightmare,
built to save the banks
and insurance companies
$$$ by taking the shape and character
of a box.
Office workers inside cubicles inside a big steel box.
A white collar prison.
The billboards and neon signs
light the dark sky
but bring no joy or mystery
to the night.
Stars are hidden from plain sight
by the nuclear glow of the city.
Imagine, North Korea is mocked
because they can see the stars at night.
Imagine, North Korea is mocked
because they can see the stars at night.
Noise is ever present.
The snarling traffic
and angry honkers
all in a rush to get somewhere,
no where, who knows where?
The air is heavy with exhaust fumes.
You notice it when you walk,
hold your breath til the cars pass by…2,3,4,5,6
hold it, hold it, hold it.
The people don’t say hello much anymore,
they are busy looking down at their hands
pushing buttons with their thumbs,
lost in a satellite uplink,
some inane subject as meaningless
as their job at the burger joint.
Soon the drones are to come here,
constantly humming overhead,
to spy on us,
because we've now become the enemy too.
Who cares about privacy?
Some say "I don't have anything to hide"
.....others fear the clampdown is near.
Soon the drones are to come here,
constantly humming overhead,
to spy on us,
because we've now become the enemy too.
Who cares about privacy?
Some say "I don't have anything to hide"
.....others fear the clampdown is near.
Block after block of shops, selling products
we don’t really need.
Told to buy stuff by ads
that quietly crawled into our heads,
and haunt us in unsuspecting moments.
We have become vulnerable to those who
specialize in planting corporate seeds
in our brains, but they’re not really our
brains anymore, they’ve long ago been taken
over by the merchants of profit and death.
Where is the beauty in the city?
The flowers are planted each spring
by city workers
in the median strips of highways.
Planted to amuse the cars;
that must be true because the drivers
never see the flowers, they are much to busy
texting on their gadgets,
even more inane conversations.
What can people actually be talking about?
Politics, religion, philosophy, art?
No, they are tweating things like:
“I bot a hot dog”
or “I’m goin home”
or “U see fun nu beer ad on Suprbwl?”
Where is the beauty in the city?
By Bruce Gagnon
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