Another Tale of Two Cities

A Big City - the cortex of our civilization
My frontal cortex - a city doomed by Darwin’s design.
Nurtured by the spinal cord,
Or a river, let’s say Thames.

There are wide streets of frequent use -
Mortgage Road, Daily Grind High,
And narrow dirty passages of dodgy dealings -
Coming-Now Crescent or Anal Close.
We are proud of the magnificent underground system
Of emotional responses:
Red Central - for anger,
Circular Yellow - runs obsessive emotions of guilt and shame,
Blue - Victoria! - for states of spiritual elation
(very irregular, prone to signal failures)
Northern Black - for dark depression and despair
(although the longest and the slowest one - always crowded)

The Cities never sleep,
Always change shape
In a constant chase
After illusions of improvement.

Yes, there are some moments of spiritual and creative genius,
Say, Tate Modern and St.Pauls,
But mostly they are filled with rows of terraced mediocrity,
Crowded by mundane little neurons
Rushing to make it to work on time.
There are also green patches of respite,
Where they can have a rushed lie-down
Between an old hot-dog and a fresh dog-poo.
Poignantly those places are named "the Commons"
Reminding the lawn users of their overall status.

Like most citizens,
I dream of a peaceful village
Defying laws of evolution,
With two, even better, one road -
Preferably the Yellow Brick Road.

And then,
You can call me an earthworm
 Or a bodhisattva.
I won’t be bothered either way.