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