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New York

New York,-- barren city, devoid of color.
The gusting winds holler
At the pedestrians crossing the zebra.
Mercury laps the zero.
The passage of time cares not for infants,
But here, even nymphets 
Lack vital signs. And only cold statues
Appear to capture
The chill that stitches these side streets.
Each morning, the eye greets
The hung-over clouds, like drying clothes.
And each night, the moths 
Anxiously soar to the lightened candle.
The clock strikes the temple
With a pulse that can keep you awake
At your wake.