High on NY

Bagels and pretzels smell like the morning,

Of businesswomen rushing to board meetings…

Starbucks in one hand,

Louis Vuitton in the other,

Manhattan is for the materialistic, they say…

But in between the narrow spaces

in perfectly applied fake lashes,

The powerful strains

of Christine’s anguish resound,

As a phantom from the shadows

makes her the queen of Opera,

And of our dull, tired hearts…

longing for love in the city of dreams and despair…

Each pop of an M&M is punctuated by

the deep, soothing chants of an old grandma

meditating in the corner of the street,

crinkled eyes that hold the wisdom of the Orient.

Skyscrapers and shacks,

Caramel cashews and glazed donuts,

Lady Liberty rubbing shoulders with

Prada bags and bare, sun kissed skin,

All hurrying from Penn Station to Port Authority,

Going somewhere, sometimes nowhere,

NY, it is… the city that never sleeps.

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