A/N: This is not meant to be read. It's a Slam poem (for those to whom this is a new term, Slam is an "urban jungle" spoken poem,often bornin open-mic coffee shop readings. It's similar to rap... it's usually a rant with a bit of beat and rhyme to it), and so it's actually a verbal piece, meant to be heard. That's why the linebreaks are so frequent and it has such a fast rhythm.
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Steel and glass
push past the street
split the concrete
like Darwin's trees:
Generation Infinity.
This creation's an
invocation to created divinity
jungle of amenity
plenty of opportunity.
Coffee is the immunity
that fights the infection
it's a protection without direction
cure for the collection of beetles
with their needles and beer
poisoning what's already impure.

Switch gears
Peer at a map:
This plaid city's
a crisscross quilt
built on guilt and greed
it can feed curiosity
possibilities tossed down every fold
it's gonna cost
to get lost
switched around
in the turnabout stitches
secret riches hidden in
forbidden folds
junkie's gold
sold on the fringes
impinging on futures
they're cringing as the sutures rip apart

Start over
Steel and glass
iron and plastic
turn elastic pasts to a hazy maze of
phase after phase after phase.
Praise Coffee
(the god of the city)
and the committee of angels,
newfangled in aprons and nametags,
who sing
"double mocha extra whip cream."
There's no time
to linger
in the lines at the shrine;
divine solutions die in the pollution.
The jungle's evolution
is a delusion:
survival of the fittest
doesn't exist
in the metal and cement city
of bent inventions
and intentions spent.
Generation Infinity:
Repent.

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A/N, take two: This plus my first Slam, "We're Not Listening," won me 2nd place at an annual Poetry Slam at my highschool. FictionPress author Miss Lily Rose won 1st with "Get a Life" and "Homeland Insecurity" (I highly recommend the reads!).