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I witnessed the malnourished dixie-cup hand starving, corrupt, decaying - cloned on every street corner with Xerox tales and raspy truth

As a blind, deaf justice who spoke no word toward this foreseeable folly

Who lay on the cinder block funeral, rising to the ardent dawn with its moss grown spires and cast iron citadels.

With long periless fingers scraping the clouds to become emancipated from the stainless steel cage that it imprisoned itself within.

Dormant cigarette smokestacks burned no more into the manufactured americanca of horseless carriage.

Which distraught nuclear families burned through the centrifuges of their cyclic poverty.

Speaking the maxim idyllic promise that was broken in tandem with the pockets at Wall St.

Who than suffered white crack nights and hospital disco light daybreaks.

And out of desperation put its future on the blackhole of american industry as a testament to the economic gravity that spun around it.

Whose singularity supernova expelled opprotunity with the caucasian moths following the beacon of fading starlight into the darkness of the undeveloped.

Accelerating past the Caucasian paint job that sped past the corroded and decayed frames on the brokeback mountain of american futility.

Abandoning The stranded that pondered stealing the tramsission of the supersonic oxidized hearse to scale the summit, hoping to rob the vault of the dead.

But feared the immobile statue of god that scaled the city in his hands.

That lost the corroded light once in his hands as hope lit deacons dissolved into the rubble of chalk outlined concrete and ashtray blues.

And the hardest hit that vanished into the night on a bench, only to reappear at sunrise having never moved.

With the Ansel Adams economists that frollicked on the broken brick rooftops of new deal prominence.

Who captured the attempt to drive their cars backward into the assembly line to be reforged endlessly into the same comodity in cyclic time warp.

And the motionless deceased who forever looked upon the pillars of starlight into the spontaneous acropolis of purgatory

Who decayed like ashen statues with administered Plutonian needles binding them to the cumbling throne of concrete and asphalt.

With idle bodies decaying of green, gangrenous liberty and spirit.

Who created machine to manufacture it a compatable advent solace.

That now lay abandoned in the mortar crumble skylight of grandiose, and despair in fear of necessity becoming inhuman.

And sat lifeless as an inevitable inception inside the coffin of a city at the final cover of its magnum opus.

Who would pray to all gods to rapture the dead into reanimation.

That were burned into ash, and thrown from the dormant stock exchange in a final ride of the sloped arrow monorail.

That stood as an absolute for nationwide statistics.

That only could be comprehended by the sound of sight

With its dying authors that chose to write in red ink plasma on the human skin printing press of the conscious glass panes.

who in their last dying breath, looked at unison with its twins and clones, at the radiating beacon of hope that polluted the morning sky.

And who flew near the reminiscing success of the daylight like insects to an ecliptic end, only to never witness the illuminated zeal that human lust had craved past its lifespan innumerable.

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