I swear the buildings are strung
up by floss in this city lit
by fever and florescence.
You'll memorize the neon lights
of different train lines if
you last here long enough. Last
night I kicked a rat or rather
felt one scurry on my foot. I
screamed but only outwardly
(I wasn't really all that shocked).
I wonder if there's any air here at
all that hasn't been inhaled and
exhaled by someone who's already dead.
Don't die without coming to live
on this island, outlined in bridges
and spray painted poems.
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