The city trembles
under the
rumble of the trains
under the
light of one million sunrises
under the
the anticipation of one million sunfalls

Lights shiver under the stampede of
move I'm in a hurry’s
of suits and sweaters and briefcases
and Made in China.
Of oh please don't hurt me
just take whatever you want

I will cooperate.
The smoke from the top of every building blends into a semblance of sky
the color of the day
of the tremble in your silence
when she screams
it was your fault
it was your fault
it is your fault
and you know exactly what she's talking about.

The flicker of the infamous marquee is the only beacon of hope left
except for the shadow of your face
obscuring the view of the city as you rush it by.