The truly great cities are never self-conscious:
They have their own music; they go about business.
London surges, Rome bubbles, Paris promenades;
Dresden stands rigid, gazes skyward, afraid.
Vienna canters in a slowly tightening spiral.
Golden facades line the avenues, ring after ring
tracing a curve as tender and maddening
as a smile on the face of a beautiful rival.
You can't escape it; everywhere's a circle.
Feel your knees bend and straighten
as you focus each step. Hum along with it;
succumb to the sway, enter the trance.
Ah, sweet scandal: No one admits it,
but we all know this dance.