this city

the streets
have grown fine grey wings,
but this city
still canít seem to rise above
its own limitations,
still cannot see
beyond its blinders
black and white,
left and right,
race and class,
pride and fear,

still cannot surmount
its airbrushed self-image
of wealth and power,
its cosmopolitan pretense,
cannot see the lives
paved over
with each new
freeway expansion,
each new
construction project,
each new monument
dedicated to the myth
that progress
equals prosperity for all.

 that myth, 
 unlike Pegasus, 
 just wonít fly. 

the wings flap
weakly in the breeze
as the setting sun
casts a parting shot,
casting its glow
upon skyscrapers
clad in cupreous mirrors
that reflect the city
back upon itself,
a shiny irony
for a society
that tends
towards being

© by Jack T. Marlowe

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