my yearly phoenix death poem

this place
where all the buildings look the same and the
grid system is like counting blessings
43 44 45th avenue
the gender roles locked in tight and
the sexual energy as dull
as the dead air and as authentic as
the palm trees imported from
who-knows-where somewhere maybe
perhaps they gave shade there instead of
a complimentary view
included with the air conditioning and football
games

millions of people live here and yet
I've never heard of a single one of them