same identical sun

Here's a poem. Thinking about shapes of skylines, and about builders and their very early starts. It's come out all mix-up and smudgified. Anyhow:

Site

I build up cities / clang clang,
build ‘em up. Not just me, is a
whole team of us, yes yes.
Build ‘em up. Thumb squint.
Identical hats with decals, all
fearless re girders ‘n such. Sure.
Human sure. Got plans, plants,
cherry pickers, conduit, masonry,
go out even in the rain, see.
For the vistas, for the skylines.

Manhattan and San Gimignano;
marimba theme of the chart wizard,
his helpers, lined up on the y axis
as it were muppets or drawn on,
say, eggs. All same hats. Look
where they cross the ‘much vaunted’ river
it seems a pontoon appears under their boots
to keep ‘em from what, dissolving.
Now listen you here to me gimpo.
Strut by strut I count them in boy.

That was the gaffer I mean the architect
we heard just then through that window.
Let’s look you said as we weakened.
Less venal more charmingly grabby,
we put one eye each to the split cheek.
At once the little pop song played,
marimba, bell curve, re-evaluate summer’s
rise and fall of towers as chimp via
thug to gent and back. Not with a bang but
a long diminuendo: thus palindrome.

I know it’s brick but it looks like brass,
the dawn blue milk sky still not spoken,
all cities are memorial at this lucky stage.
Songs on those little radios are active,
hydraulic pixie boogaloo, the yellow
sun right in the kisser. Clang clang.
Coffee, grapefruit juice, toast, eggs,
stewed fruit, more coffee, look how
crumbs cast shadows on belfast linen, allow
the day, its many and exemplary encounters.