What makes my city pretty?

In nanoseconds-long interstices –
in brilliant colors (therefore) no-one sees –

the god assigned to batten
down the elegant and brutal hatches of Manhattan

and to flatten any hint of dullness
and refurbish every glint to fullness

takes great chunks of town
into his ambient renown

and – sweet and fleet – subjects them to the grace
of the enormity of his grand blast of glorious embrace

until each doubt in it has perished
and each lout in it feels cherished.




.