The city is a spillt
canister of legos
stretching out & out
etched by rivers
large enough to
accommodate
boats
impressive bridges.
Disregard the concrete.
Pay no mind to the
curdling of liquids
after it rains.
Look up to the
massive sky
where stale sounds
and stifled air
find release.
The city is a beehive
that alarms us
when we think:
“Gosh, we made this
with hands, this
hectic, full of
what-ifs
place.”
Its swarms of people
provide us with a
certain nectar,
but you’ll get sick
of the taste
if you never leave.
fog up the windows 