Grim frigid
outpost
of the broken
tiles
and pitted
steel
and concrete of
the bald
inhuman
efficacy of New York:
the structure –
soulless –
of a subway
platform –
predicating
winter as
the antidote to
sentiment –
New York as
unfeeling creature,
barren rocky
moon:
no room for,
interest in
the loneliness
of your affections.
New York is
defection
from all
softness, warmth today –
its cold and brutal
business
soon comes
clear:
to spawn
another year.
You think you
love her?
Love her here.
.
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