Stare long enough and you’ll get square eyes
or tarmac, brick and concrete ones
as the outside bleeds in and makes a city of your insides.
All natural, all artificial – the way it’s meant to be.
With buses for blood
congested by the mass of walkers
and seldom circulating to outer suburbs
of heart and head.
Skin is made steel
greyed by staggered rain and stained by the human pollution forced on perfectly imperfect architecture.
Buildings that are bones
sometimes prisons, joints seizing up to hold your metropolis in place.
Some open homes, yielding the outer shell to flood the inside with fevered foot traffic.
All natural, all artificial
all an infinte strip
of infinite cities
congesting one London
and one Paris
and one Milan,
All natural, all artificial.
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