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"Urban"
by Max PhineasRooftop to rooftop
Down the fire escapes
We are but shapes.
Fleeting avenues
Beneath drenched awnings
We skate puddled passes
Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses...
Supersonic,
Polyphonic,
Congregation,
Convolution
Shameless disillusion,
Nameless delusion.
This place is not the problem
It's The Solution.
03/18/2007 Author's Note: A dedication to New York City.
Posted on 03/18/2007
Copyright © 2024 Max Phineas
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Rebecca Lin on 03/21/07 at 04:39 AM Oh yes, I read this on gj. Awesome awesome. Gotta love the city! |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 03/28/07 at 03:22 AM Cole, thank you for bringing back memories of a city I totally love. It's all this and more - a wonderfully diverse place where it never sleeps. An absoulute synchroni-city!
~Chelle~ |
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