The poor live on the surface
Below the middle class
In the shadow of two-story
Homes and regular meals

And below the rich and well-off
Live the middle people
Who live fine
And survive

But the rich
Towering over the rest
Cast the longest
Shadows of all

On the top shelf
Their shangri-la
Is fed by sunlight
And wonderful seasons

The middle sometimes
Get rain that runs off
From up top
And down into their gutters

But the poor must live
With artificial light
And a broken people
Who cry at infrastructure

Towering on corregated steel
Rebar and stone with stairs
Snaking and ladders warping
Up above to the roofs

Dense packaging of humanity
Living in perfect harmony
Triad gangs and meat factories
Unlicensed dentists practicing

Six foot alleys, 200 yard light rays
250 square feet to live
Dirty deeds and express relief
Brothels and preschoolers

All balances on top of another
Without support, it would collapse
Communities and ecosystems
Metal would fall and iron rust

Doctors throw organs away
Triad members are murdered
Sunlight never reaching ground
It’s a lawless Shangri-La

A rubber region’s
Explosive growth
Due to the ground’s
Temperate zone

Waterfalls from rooftops
Spilling blood from illegality
Interrogations with glass shards
Jets buzzing the city ceiling

While the rich tan
And middle class live
The poor must scrap
And of light be sapped

Of the trees that grow
On their level
They must be sapped of sap
By the poor saps to pay for light

A twilight zone of society
A cornucopia of depravity
Where the desperate drink rain
And the rubber trees are drained

Published by Jake Thomas Shaw

Concerned with memory, currency, and destiny, I strive to capture each one as they happen. Join me and consume reality! Radio Reality. City!

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