The function of this city

is to encircle
its own beating heart,
pulsing out rhythms
to a foreign chorus
bannered and proud,
(in the broad allees)
and
(in the third-ring slums)
capitulated.
The lights in the downtown
- we have not yet earned our neons -
beckon a fog, through which to break,
but it never comes this far from the sea.
A minor aortic disorder, that won't
bring the whole mess crashing down.
It won't even keep us indoors
despite the lack of parks;
the riverside is a mess, though.
The current should suggest
escape
progess
anything movement-related,
and yet
our nights
a screen around the center,
approaching borders,
hinting at movement
in the corner of your eye.