We drive back home into the chaos capital -
Drunk like the Argonauts avid for fleece -
With the still, distilled reveal of the clavicle
Curve of alt buildings we glimpse from the bridge.
Towers grouped sharply in sensuous groves,
The slang of their toes well-rooted in streets,
Electric with blooms, concrete as our souls,
Coolly envelop us in their ambient leaves.
Here we are richer than our many adventures -
An orchard whose merchants guard us with want -
Where a million millionaire hedge fund managers
Are skirting starvation at the table of life.
City of dreams, meet the fruit of delight.
Now: time we make babies by the whisper of night.