Shikaakwa

I want to claim this city, fold it into my marrow
and grow it all over again, its artificial stars
heaving raw electricity like Tesla hungover,
nurture its naked precipices snapping at the night;
I will render it precious, the White City, immortal as sin.

Adoptive mother, tucking in a million beds:
all its junkies as my horse-sick children,
its poodle-pampered yuppies preening in bars
its suitably suited businessmen slicking back their hair,
the little jazzmen who bleed soul in the subways.

Here forever, never evicted, sleeping in every stone and stoplight;
I will leave my fingertips in places they can’t kill them.
Prairie Paris, Lover by the Lake, my lady, my sweetness –
in the city, a garden. Here I will.

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