from the ground level
the city was filthy
with trash blowing across oil soaked streets
a fetid stench of rot mixed with human waste
slight higher at a distance it was a glowing series of monolithic concrete and glass with bright neon lights
from the vantage of space it was a conglomeration of flickering lights
a nebula of man’s need to reimagine the cosmos in the shape of humanity’s desperation to remain in the crux of importance
from the perspective of the eye in the storm
it had the subtle whorls of god’s fingerprint pressed into the unbaked clay of the world
manipulated and deformed by the baking process
it was all of this
and less
the storm seemed necessary to start anew
wipe the slate clean
the ignominy of need processed into synthetic response