Extinct Eden

The skyline wheezes through gauze-thick breath, its lungs ossified in scaffolded sighs, where children etch constellations on smog, and pigeons strut in soot-stained pride. Dark as coal, and quieter than sleep, the city dreams in monochrome, its rivers choked with yesterday’s sins, its gardens traded for silicone. Traffic flows like veins in a dying beast, pumping noise into the marrow of stillness. We built this Eden out of exhaust and liturgy of engines. We now beg for the Adam's apple to drop back down.