October Poem 11: The Walking Tour

What better way to see the city. The

Press of flesh. The breeze of cars jockeying

Mere feet away. The yellow of the cabs

Speeding and zipping to make a dime. The

Closing of your conscious mind to the mad

Gibberish of steel and glass rising to

Block out the sky. The trash and odor and

Graffiti of lived lives out to pick your

Pocket with hot dogcarts and pizza shops.

The street side bazars and three card monte.

The real people taking real steps to hurt.

Awaking to the idea: the people

A place outside of nature. A massive

Inhuman biology unconcerned.

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