The city moves with a pulse.
Brick and mortar against warm bodies.
It slithers, alive with need and desire.
Along bree; stop and feel it,
Touch, smell, taste and sight.
The senses assailed by throngs of bodies moving in rhythm.
Walls awash with prisms.

There is god here,
Death and life, sex in alleys reeking with urine.
Money exchanging hands again and again,
Metal against flesh.
Pleasure and pain, pain without pleasure.
A footstep nearly misses her head.
The pavement is her bed.

Inter connection.
Where do they go.
Swaying, stepping, missing, moving.
Such a hurry.
Bags tightly held from foreign hands,
Eyes darting, careful not to see what they mustn’t.
Not to look where their business isn’t.

There is god here,
In the nonchalance,
Atoms in constant vibration,
Kinetic energy.
Perhaps the footsteps raise the dust from the sahara that feeds the amazon,
Nothing is accidental.
All is fundamental

© Jen