We walk with heads down
Like palm readers prowling,
concentrated with abstract eyes, every third line
Looking for our future in
Dear City, you balance us with
chains in cupped hands. You have-
no blind fold. Your eyes-
cry oceans. Your breath-
forfeits waves. Your sunset-
beats in celestial repetition
guarded by silhouetted mountain ranges.
if this city ever a scale,
Death weighs heavy.
City, we are your ripe fruit-
Suspending from your Desert roots.
your hands are overflowing.
City, you are an Icarus
City, you are a reincarnated
you speak in bullets.
prophecy tells of a “Rose that grew from concrete”
but you killed the man who saw if first, and made it obsolete with oversight.
instead of the Rose we became the parasite.
if this city palms,
the earth our arms:
caressing us to sleep,
while the universe sings us to unity-
Us: its time to wake up.
So we can breath you, unzip your name and expose your purpose.
We are looking up now. You-
“Holy City, full of Grace
We are within you.
Blessed are you amoung men and women
And blessed is the fruit of your womb,