I learned the hard way,
mistaking minimalism for discipline,
as if an unhindered surface
could draw more charge,

like the streamlining of the city's streets,
the sharp talons of gargoyles
ground into the ledges they grip.
Aerated, not barren.

Light moves in waves and particles
and I take it both ways,
knowing it won't last much longer,
my grasp on the dialect

of the grid, my claim to veins
of gold ore (more likely copper
and silt), all gone in the firm
entrenchment of those who choose to stay.

Birds turn in circles,
pigeons trained to follow a stick.
A man elbows me on the stairs
and I let him have it.