The Places Where We Live

One road is much the same
as any other,
furcated alleys,
scions in night-tamed colours,
connecting one
neon cell to the next,
a neural net
to catch the city’s
consciousness.

One city is much the same
as any other,
conjoined children
in a worldly womb,
heaving in
amniotic culture,
throbbing with life,
systolic existence.

One life is much the same
as any other,
each mortal debt
settled
when the fragile vessels
that contain us
crack
and we bleed
into the places where we live.