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Amoeba, My City

It's a selfish business, being a city, an amoeba bulging at the boundaries,
narrow where orifices lick fulsome tides. It protrudes fat lips to bite
hard scree of the Palisades, chews up Sneden's Landing, paints tugs with a
thousand curious villi. What lives in its shifting form accepts the island's flux.
Planes come and go, disgorging lives that indifferently cohere. Women bathe their
children in the shallows before sunning tropical legs. An amoeba in a droplet fans
into an island, untidy form. The microscope remarks a secret shell.
In the waste, the sparkling Hudson feeds tugs through the locks at Troy,
Collar City; in the body's moist places, it enters and feeds. Every death a brief
eternity, a duple split, poisonous through the skin. The osmotic city: one.

   Carol Alexander