The neon garden.

A living collection of advertisements.

The capital of capitalism.

Traffic flows through the streets

Like blood through the veins of an urban Olympian.

In the belly of the beast,

Wading in gastric commercialism.

I have seen the light – it was a Budweiser ad.

The air is alive with electricity

And smells like fried sewage.

The remnants of bad habits litter the asphalt.

Voices puncture the air like bullets,

Ricocheting off of storefronts and skyscrapers.

The ants move busily through the colony,

Each with its own implied intent,

But do they share the trail with each other?

So much security for so many lost souls.

A thousand spotlights on me,

Yet I go completely unnoticed.

Here, the sky always shows twilight.

When dusk and dawn collide…

Time is circular in this square.