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When The City Becomes Metaphysical I Ask The Question

this capitulation of the spirit among cityscape
and the banks are empty, lit from inside
so poke and digit for your virtual cash

as evening goes slow in the sky
and glacial windows reflect the traffic
trees are neglected and corpselike

where people spark electric
behind their set-piece faces towards
the bottle towers where it is spoken if unsaid
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Sunday, January 12, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: metaphysical
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6/22/2021 5:16:02 PM # 1.0.0.632