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Living the Dream

Green is over­rated.

I pre­fer the bold­ness of con­crete,
Bru­tal build­ings cut by bru­tal streets,
Beauty mis­un­der­stood:
The scrape of sturdy ground un­der­foot;
Every­thing you need within arm’s reach,
Cof­fee, re­grets, cig­a­rettes, and bleach;
Base­ment storeys far out­num­bered by those up high,
Each one of us can buy our lit­tle slice of sky.
Phone lines and satel­lites
Car­ry­ing words and civil rights,
Sto­ries and smiles,
New wor­ries, new tri­als.

If you can’t stand the pain,
Just wait for the next train.
Try the town next door.
Though it won’t be long be­fore
The world is just cities
And end­less com­mit­tees,
Cu­bi­cles and “World’s Best Dad” cof­fee mugs,
Mail-​order beds and antibiotic-​resistant bed bugs,
As­phalt, plas­tic, and stain­less steel,
Man­u­fac­tured until we for­get what’s real.
But who cares if noth­ing is what it seems
— doesn’t that mean we’re liv­ing the dream?