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.