Under and Above
by Mark Mason
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Underneath, there is a fluid
Running through the soil and sandstone
Blood dark and rich with tales
Buried deep and weighed down with buildings
Above, roads and footpaths, the gardens and parks
Are this city's epidermis, its thick skin
Waiting for the needles of progress
To pierce it and draw the hidden secrets out
Underneath, there is staunched growth
Wrapped up tight by the weeds
Of services deemed essential
Cables, wires, sewer pipes and fibre optics
Above, we're the living remnants
Of the heroes who made this place a city
Weakened by modern excess
We seem incapable of continuing their good work
Underneath, there is a mordant smell
Seeping up like flatulence from the disturbed earth
It rises above the city lines
And hangs in the sky like a putrescent smog
Above, edifices like melanomas on the landscape
Spread and stain the hills and valleys
Leak sickness into rivers and oceans
The only life are the diseases we've introduced
We don't erect statues to our heroes anymore
Instead, we build malls and car parks,
We let heritage be remodelled in apartments
To suit gallery viewing and short attention spans
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