This Glamorous City

This Glamorous City

The buildings wear silver

head-dresses. Smoke from its chimneys

is shell-green, silken.

We aren’t scared of heights here.

We don’t fear the dark.

The world’s elevator cradles us

past its tantalising storeys.

In this city you can switch on

a party by blinking; turn it off

again by keeping your eyes closed.

It shakes down its diamante.

Hustles its furs.

Some may note

its maverick shoeshine lustre.

It’s suspended in its own perpetual future.

Here, we can touch the tops of the heads

of our wildest dreams.

There’s nothing allowed in the name of honour;

nothing in the name of faith.

Just a licence for glamour.