We have built up this city
this beacon in the night for the nameless
brick by god-forsaken brick
hoping it is enough repentance
for the war crimes of those before.
An amalgamation of stone and iron;
and the Lord himself casts a disapproving glance
across the damned, the nameless
grasping at dime bags
desperate for a sanctuary among thieves.
What have we done?
Do not tell me that you know of despair
until you have braved the depravity
of the dope man’s daily run.
A thousand hollow eyes, glazed over,
their whole livelihood passing between scarred hands
in exchange for the woman in white.
(She will fuck you, but never love you. )
There are no gods in those littered alleys
where memories trip on syringes full of lost hope.
And we have created these monsters–
carved them with our own bloodied hands.
And who will be safe from the impending earthquake?