Aztlan

Make me a city as tall as
The pink orchards of Babylon
Paint me a skyline that's brilliant
Write a tongue of marble and rye
Build a city of broad shoulders
Make me a wise mathematical
Equation strewn through the city.

Make me of form of forthright man
To keep us to the open skies,
And give me a legible mark
To put on bronze and silver coins,
And another to put on our
Paper money for all to see
Made all brown, and orange, and green.

In a faraway land I would
Have gone to Mumbai or known
A metropolis, so be like
The sister city of Tulsa,
And fail those other foreigners,
Americans or crusaders
Seek, and forgive me my default.