forget the angel on the beach,
the lifeguard's borrowed grace.
forget the librarian's quiet speech,
in this unbounded space.
the help that's offered is a chain,
a dam against the tide,
i hear the structure creak and strain,
with all its lies inside.

i knew a builder of the wall,
a weaver of deceit.
i saw the certain fracture, all
paths led to that same street,
to break, to use, or to be broke,
no fixing that deep flaw.
the same dry rot in heart and oak,
the same relentless law.

i see it in the digital net,
the call that cannot connect,
the fragile promise, thinly set,
the architecture's defect.
a dam of civility and code,
that presses until, puff,
a story ends, a shoddy road,
is never enough.

so i resign from beaver's toil,
the chimp's political climb.
i will not fight for soil or spoil,
or waste my precious time.
i let the fractured system churn,
i study its design,
and for its offerings, i yearn,
the fruit is on the vine.

i am the urban monkey, wise,
in concrete canopy.
i read the currents with my eyes,
and swing so effortlessly.
the fruit is plentiful and sweet,
the selfie is a bonus of generation xyz.
i thrive upon this buzzing street,
and find its price is right.

the torrent flows, i feel its pull,
i do not stand and rail.
i am perceptive, belly-full,
riding the coming gale.
and when the final dam gives way,
as all such structures must,
i'll have feasted on today,
and turned its dust to lust.