London, Now

London,
strange syllable city
so full of accents,
so neat and old of geometric wrinkles,
feels as though she hasn't tasted sweetness
since America departed.

I saw her,
London,
a young woman, the City,
a formal suit of perfect feminine wit,
a harmony of discordant blue and handbag,
carrying congratulation, a fan of flowers.


Look up,
London,
at your wheel,
so out of scope.

Look up,
London,
beyond,
see tomorrow's empire:

would you dare.

image: po

Dylan Harris
2k+

it's my hands
my difficulty with melancholy
hence the coldness
fear in flight, god
dog sea
push pop
all
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