[untitled monstrosity]

Has been.

Once was . . .

a great city

Flies eat shit on its street corners--

once was

has been.





Drifting through its corridors

back alleys;       existing

beyond its smoky bars and open sewer

grates . . .





Riding the edge

of its grid-lock traffic

and all those maniacal mechanical

clangs





stepping over bodies

I see you.

Rising from a burnt out

burnt down building





I see you quiver and tremble

in the cold dead heart of this       city.





And you whisk me away       in your ford escort

out passed the El tracks

out near valley forge

beneath the stars

which hide behind the polluted

grey smoke-ridden

skyline.





In your car

your hands dangle over my

industrial thigh-way       along my blue route

into my newly-constructed

spectrum.





your fingers dripping with your

corporate america

your hostile take-overs

your ball-stripped jism





Long live the cold dead city!

(spray me with your capital gains . . . )





 
.  .  .




Staring out of your moon roof

at the telephone lines over head

dreaming roughly

dreaming harshly

wiping/dressing/accepting your

cold hard cash       quickly . . .





Get me out of this car.

Get me used to this city.

• Chy Ryan Spain

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