Amid the towering wrecks
of architects' aspirations
There is to see
weird, sullen desperations...
One is not swept-up by the myriad
multi-storied spires,
bereft of gargoyles,
Crosses, and other invocations of
earlier penitents.
Do these men have the same nightmares
as Michelangelo or Christopher Wren?
Must they construct these denuded, angular visions
of hell's garish whore house palaces,
Lairs of beastly, distorted, stalking
architectural sin, born of
primordial art's design versus function schism?
What gods do such architects seek to worship?
Who could listen to that Manhattan to Harlem
Screaming clashing jargon, and call it prayer!
In concrete canyons, asphalt rivers seer and scar,
Sculptured steel meets, mixes like sweating bodies
in a boxing gym and plastic protoplasm scurries
at an ever quickening clip.
Cathedrals of conformity give rise to anonymity
While numbers and their squares of seek infinity.
