Among grimy, concrete walls and discarded wrappers

you can find a new home. Feel the city air, despair,

creation, smells of falafel and exhaust, on your collarbones.

The blood in your wrists is the same here as anywhere

but you notice the pulsing, the life, from the 75th floor.

Looking out over the expanse of building anatomy,

how each skyscraper is a nucleus. You’re more in touch here,

lifted closer to the gods, than among 

snow-tipped mountains and fresh evergreens.


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