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Come to Times Square

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Seizure warnings, for:

Along with the traffic lights beaconing,
Along with the driving force of cars,
Along with the driving force of people,
Along with the monument of buildings,
Along with the many open doors,

There is the wilderness, that thing so partially stepped in,
The billboards (and the bills of boards, the billing boards, the boarding bills, the boards of bills!) that are not pining,
Not reaching for the sky—they are so high up on rooftops
And gleaning off of the glass walls—
The terror of people, oppression under their fascination,
The conglomerate balls of light melted into a figure of constant sheen and of preambles,
The tower that casts down a sightless gaze—

With my luck,
I mobilize; I duck under the stupid skim, it without its blast to scatter it,
And I run towards a sidelined doorway.



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