In twenty years, we’re going to run out
of spaces for new residents. The bright light surveilled the parking lot
that once housed water. When I was young, I used to climb to the top
of the tower just to see past a tall building. It was a novelty to feel, against
my back, the weight of a wave contained, trapped in pre-stressed concrete.
From the sky, it must have seemed like I was thirsty, but in reality
I was bloated and fucked. Who wasn’t? Filled with a need
for liquid treasure and a garden that blooms year round. The only green
space in this city was a vertical lawn, a rising wall capitalizing
on the human desire for natural growth. It was a fantasy,
an upturned gaze into the clouds. Hot air rose
from the street grate, late summer sewage, a threshold
I could not pass.