The city breathes in neon gasps
steam hisses from its underbelly
streets slick with the oil of dreams
long gone and shadows weave stories
noone reads

A prophet screams scripture on the corner
his beard tangled with cigarette ash
his gnarled hand clutches a paper cup
his gospel drowned by the sirens

Subway cars rattle like ancient bones,
their passengers, hollow-eyed apostles of survival,
clutch plastic relics and ambition long faded,
the rhythm of despair hammers in their temples

Billboards flash commandments:
Buy. Sell. Obey. Forget
the Gospel of fluorescence cuts through
the hum of bodies that fail to outrun the past.

I walk through it all, a ghost
tethered to the pulse,
seeking answers in the hum of the static night
the city, veins pump and pump, until
it spits us out,
Unborn again