a crystal skyline of sky-blue glass
cloud flecks reflected
in panels of pastel on steel
sterile and beautiful
all rounded, space-age edges
and zooming spaceships
and elevated footbridges
on a pristine landscape
an immaculate vision
beneath cameras
growing like fungi
on skyscrapers
you expect aeon flux to scale down the side at any moment
the enterprise to land
boldly going where no one has come back from before
a futuristic fiction
inside a terraformed bubble
in an otherwise desolate desert
there is a sense of there being nothing else
for miles around
and there isn’t
the avenues, wide, uncrossable,
named after stars and constellations
are empty and perfect
so gorgeous and grotesque
you could have an orgasm
or vomit
anachronisms of flesh
in this century city