My City is a Continent…
Over here you’re the landlord of your space
It is that jaunt in the knee that breaks you into a dance
A rhythmic cacophony of body vibrations, icy perspiration and pregnant desperation.
Everyone here is wild, every thought valid
Even the order is barbaric.
Yellow, white or invisible, we don’t care
Bring us our keep or become the keep.
“No one is joking in Moscow”
That’s a saying authored by my city
She reigns from the ashes of ages gone
Our matriarch phoenix has gone mad again
And again, you sprint from the energy behind,
Obey the force beside and already at fault before you decide.
Your visa is your soul, for she gulps her goblets of blood before serving you your pound of flesh.
Even if you pretend not to know, she can read only one class of paper
She’ll still poke you to “pay me my money. “