Cities are plastic, the city of illusion,
myth, aspiration, nightmare
a woman climaxing
a train roars past, a man yells
shut the fuck up, or else!

The incongruous fragments of others
exposed and exposed by others
isolated signals, gestures, jungle cries, whispers.
The plastic easily turns to psychosis.

Reading strangers like Braille,
The Tarot, body shape, I Ching
A subjective riot of judgments.
Imperial: are you a Libra?

The bland insouciance amongst friends
who know everybody: undiscovered painters,
actors, writers, who mysteriously adopt a geriatric air.
Nothing surprises.

We shun people, drop friends, lovers
become stranger as anonymity gives
melodramatic licence to the gesture.