By Aleeya Wilson
The future is
a fickle mess
of finesse,
land pulled
from under
institutions like
a dinner tablecloth.
Sinking high-rises
tilting from guilt
neighborhoods ruined,
culture swiped sideways &,
sold suddenly
scene taken &
packed into
boxes, left on curbs
fringes fall &
flatten away.
Apparitions of
buildings past flicker
on & off in
a dull light,
repurposed reconstructions
with a coat of
new paint, pop-up buildings
stick & land
30 days.
Bulldozer alarm clocks
in the same cacophony,
traffic lines in
a perpetual race for
parking space,
the ideology of
the city has been
repurposed &
recompleted,
not to
the highest bidder
but to
the influencers.
Wherever they are
within the margins &
the boundaries
this construction
cannot be left &
recommitted into
something new
in the void
that surrounds
this empty space.
Aleeya Wilson is a poet from Denver, Colorado. She graduated from the University of Denver with a BA in English and a minor in Film Studies and Production in 2016. She is currently getting her MFA in Creative Writing from the University of San Francisco. Aleeya can usually be found sipping a whiskey sour at City, O’ City, near the front of the stage at local music venues, or wandering around Denver taking notes and pictures. You can read her tweets at @awils165