Here in the bowl
Of the magnificent Mother City
I came and I found
A big enough container
That I could call
Home
A melting pot
Of migrants, musicians
Muttering mendicants
And money-mad landlords and merchants
All going it
Alone
A freelancing crucible
Of free-wheeling creatives
Freestyling hired guns aesthetically blossoming
Like wildflowers
In a messy
Biome
If the mountain
Makes the main statement
Then we are
The tiny pauses for breath between each big word
In its big beautiful
Poem