City of Lasers

Gnarled in the furthest reaches of New Jerusalem,
Foundling fidgets a tic inside its cloying caul,
Rife with tweens and Gasolina, Red Bull Vodkas,
The invasion assignment, shcumbags and dockers,
Foundling’s got the blues like his glowing libation.
Chishu, the smiling imp of his soul,
Cradles every tendril of Doom in his Duomo,
Stares at the stars beneath the statue's anonymous vigil,
Knowing a thing or two about zero assoluto,
Off-kilter gaits and obnoxious paroxysm,
Los unloads homogenous vom-bomb.
Him beaming sorriso through the night.