This city breathes me in and out.
Every day the buildings crawl higher,
concrete weeds breaking through the sky.
Their glass eyes blink hungrily,
their skin silicon smooth.
Slowly they stretch their long tentacles
towards the light.

Far below in the broken street,
the elephants step over small children
begging with puppies.
A baby held in a three year old's arms,
the cuteness of poverty.
Yellow flowers sold in a traffic jam,
the neon smudge of the street sellers' faces,
great clouds of noodle smoke.

The massage parlours tumble over each other.
The chaos of cotton candy, t-shirts, Buddhas,
girls in tight skirts who trade in smiles,
fried insects, warm beer.
The blast of a song I no longer recognize.
Vast video screens, the shrillness of advertising,
a heaving wall of pure noise.
It sucks the air from my lungs,
this constant drilling through the dust
of a thousand buildings waiting to be born.

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