the city is a drunkard

the city is a drunkard
drinking to the dregs
a sluggard and a braggart
with a story spat on passers-by
an angler clutching a fictitious fish
and a smooth finish, far less filling

drinking to the dregs of any drink it finds
it finds a bud light or a boulevard
a blue moon, bass or new belgium
taking a tonic, sipping a triple sec
expanding and elevating

where we are glad we can be ecstatic
where we are mad we can be enraged
where we are sad we can be crushed
and recycled and emptied and filled
and more and more than we’d thought before

the city is a drunkard
a chugging sluggard, tall and wide
where we are human, we can be moreso
not just in numbers, but nature
a destiny of density, of humanity amplified

and ultimately less than the sum of its parts

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