Taking the piston-sliding rides
bridging the watery damascene
flushing the high-rise waterslides;
New York in 1917.
The city’s wearing oil and steam;
her night attire’s electrified.
She entertains the new machines
taking the piston-sliding rides.
Like Gulliver, Manhattan’s tied
to bedrock dreams by cambered beams
and strutting towers anchor the guys
bridging the watery damascene.
A flock of wood-tanks, water-steeped
alight on crowns and try to hide
but people stare which makes them weep
flushing the high-rise waterslides.
An exhibitionist fond of gibes
displays a glossy cocked latrine
to galvanize or scandalize
New York in 1917.
Although American plumbing’s chic
the art scene stinks (Duchamp implies):
his frugal fount, terrenely chic
in pristine white exemplifies
taking the piss.
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