Metropolis

A wake of vultures feasts

Upon her ill-begotten heart

She is progressive

And extensional

A self-anointed heroine

Too corporal to be a strict

Monogamist

*

She grimaces on departure

Fantasies wept in technicolor

Sharpening her talons

Explicit as a scalpel

The next dissection

Will be cleaner

She assures

*

A mendacious coquette

She is beautiful

In a a way that excuses

All personal responsibility

Men assume themselves.

In her company, deficient

She is forgiven everything

Even murder

–

This is written about an unspecified/generic city though I imagine it could be used to describe a person

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The Devil’s Hands

I crossed the park into the city

A webbing of steel carcasses

Exalting a skyline smudged

In charcoals and prosaic blues

*

There are no angels in this city

Only precarious thighs

*

I watched each would be consumer

As they weaved their spindly souls

Through red lit alleys and glass facades

Wanton arms leaden,

Dent-less lips liberally greased

*

The Devil suffers no shortage of idle hands

*

Impotent souls yield adroitly to greed

Everyone here wants to be someone else

To evade consequence and intimacy

For their fragment of prefab paradise

*

Empty eyes always hunger