231

The people here walk too apace for me,
abetted by each other in their snarls and growls.
Or, maybe that’s the animals; but then, what’s the difference?
They all show their teeth to deter full-moon howls.

The people here favor speed over accuracy,
bowing down to high-grade epoxies and temporary fixes.
But the issue lies deep in their tissue and cheekbones:
It’s all been contoured by Photoshop and adapted from pixels.

The people here are skipping steps on their way up;
They’re missing milestones and breaking news, technological advances.
But they’re still somehow measuring the hour with their pay grade,
because nothing moves forward quite like urban expanses.

The people here are staring unabashedly at me.
They’ll be out for my blood until I’m drained of all my assets.
And if I’m just like them, then I’m just like them; it’s no surprise.
But I’ll confine the traits that liken me to just a single facet.

The people here were trained to stick in upper-class arrogance.
It’s not as if you can take the money from the man.
I have found it’s easier to survive if you say you’re simply passing through,
than it would be to invest in property on their land.

The people here are so much like each other;
swinging double-edged swords around with a lack of finesse.
They pollute with their profanity and singe with their tongues;
they march around with noses up,
with hazy heads,
with loaded guns.

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