The guts of the city stink
and we are corpuscles
twisting like coiled worms
through dark tunnels
bowels and arteries
parasites in glorious array
fantasmagorical
flowing to various destinations.
The night's lights fade,
stations fume hot air upon the streets,
the first newspapers walk,
dogs talk,
scraps of paper drift about,
old bags and tickets
in the sudden gusts of a new day.
April 1955