Here is a poem I wrote while exploring the underbelly of Toronto...

Cityscape

the Mad Rush
above which there is only the Moon and silence
motors motorbikes mopeds myriad of materials
adding up
rising up
amounting to nothing

buildings of concrete brick stone
cold stillness piling
thick pancakes
one on top of another on top of another
syrupy lamplight glistening along their mass

inside cement cubicles
worker ants sit
transfixed
in awe of glowing boxes
anything to shut out the noise below
the noise in their heads

beneath
lie pipes plastic plumbing
under-bowels groaning with the effort
of pushing through ages of sludge
bloated intestines coiling around and around and around

high above the Moon rolls over,
and the creature lives on

-Alix