Buried in the deep blue somewhere
A city is

Breathing.
Its gills are
Pumping.

Against the fishbowl of
Skyscrapers and

avant-
garde

Sculptures

And statues of dead

Mermaids and Politicians.

Its coral-crusted heart is

Beating. . .

To the rhythm of
The tidal-drum
Banged out. . .
On crustacean shells.

The mollusks are singing along . . .
Their voices droll as they dart
Into the gaping eye sockets of

Sirens and Sailors.

Who forgot to be on the
Alert for the Great White
Loan sharks.