If there’s one thing
this world does not need,
it’s more
urban condos.
These deranged palaces of insularity;
fortresses of exclusion;
homes to the emptiest of people;
commodified realities seeping out of the windows;
disgraceful displays of diseased, 21st century capitalist lunacy;
pigs at the trough suckling at the tits of the banks at which they congregate;
their twisted guts protruding from their bodies,
these debased, malformed mutants in their sick kind of splendor
infecting the socius;
sick, deranged rodents,
their insect eyes boiling out of their skulls,
insidiously emerge from their coffins in the skyline
and suck the blood of culture
and vomit it back out
in the form of sadness.
And I, from my pleached garden, am disgusted by the pomp.
