A Vision - Poem by Dwight Jenkins
The city rises like bleached bones from an unearthed
graveyard: forty-story leg, twenty story arms,
Tarsals and vertebrae spread like dice, shooting craps
For men's souls in the capital of an empire state
Taxes, like cartilage, hold the whole together
For now, until the mobs coalesce, as with Rome,
And then no home will be safe lest it be guarded
By violent men, softened by easy women,
Paid for with needful avarice and ancient lusts.
They will mock the old headstones; mass graves will suffice.
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