i wait for the soft sun of morning
warm on my face but not hot.
it's cold and the wind blows fast
through the gaps
between the glass buildings
entangaling my hair
and making my fingers numb.

no garss grows here.
just concrete.
no hills but stairs and elevators
or even escalators.
no birds but disease spreading pigeons.
no hope but television.
no joy but music.
no love but sex.
no god but jesus.

and the sun keeps on shining softly.