With each improvised step

planted

on the trembling gravel

one discovers the energy of the city.

 

Jackhammers

like woodpeckers

drumming to the harmony

of honking horns and flashing letters

 

Caution!

This is no place for

no casual observer—

hiding behind a dr dre hard hat

 

trying to drown out

the psychedelic inducing

xylophonic chimes

of sirens and small businesses.

 

This is no place for

no passive traveler

who dares not bask in

the spontaneity that lurks

 

beyond that cemented

reclusive exterior

falsely advertising with neon lights

of an ‘'energetic’’ façade.

This is no place

for no stiff tin soldier

greeting faded faces

with the same blank smile

 

fabricated with

Steve Jobs’s cursed

gift to mankind, bending

to what’s left of one’s free will.

 

No—This is a place

where people create

symphony from cacophony

with the souls of their striding feet

 

This is a place

where graffiti is modern art;

fast food is fine dining;

And street performers are Broadway stars.

 

So get up!

Bop to the lights,

to the sound

to the new rythm that you have found

And chill! ‘Cause

Methodical machines

make lousy

human beings.