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Manhattan by line, by subway track purr, by foot in a midwinter fresh, gale force air. The dying battery in Times Square's wristwatch, halts hands in mid air, each hailing the second taxi that comes to them every next minute; definitely in the next ten. Buried benches in thigh high snow look lost, with only their branching tops on display for the tourist's show, tramping through this January snow. Double-back, back past the Chipotle store, where diners stand and eat, stand and greet, stand with napkins to appear neat, stand near the radiator to warm their feet, stand-in-the-corner-and-text-your-wife-saying-you'll-be-home-late-because-this-meaty-wrap-is-pleasurable-to-eat. He was with another woman, kissing her cheek. Manhattan is a horizon of horizontal lines, drawn by pencil lead, led up a page to create this fascinating portrait that a point-and-click-camera cannot comprehend, let alone negotiate. We can go unnoticed there, like most others in this gale force air, but billboard boys- the ones that braid ****** building hair, window panes and balcony balustrade- are the famous ones of Broadway, with nothing more than their commercial stare.
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Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 10:33 AM UTC
ANOTHER NEW YORK POEM
Manhattan by line, by subway track purr, by foot in a midwinter fresh, gale force air. The dying battery in Times Square's wristwatch, halts hands in mid air, each hailing the second taxi that comes to them every next minute; definitely in the next ten. Buried benches in thigh high snow look lost, with only their branching tops on display for the tourist's show, tramping through this January snow. Double-back, back past the Chipotle store, where diners stand and eat, stand and greet, stand with napkins to appear neat, stand near the radiator to warm their feet, stand-in-the-corner-and-text-your-wife-saying-you'll-be-home-late-because-this-meaty-wrap-is-pleasurable-to-eat. He was with another woman, kissing her cheek. Manhattan is a horizon of horizontal lines, drawn by pencil lead, led up a page to create this fascinating portrait that a point-and-click-camera cannot comprehend, let alone negotiate. We can go unnoticed there, like most others in this gale force air, but billboard boys- the ones that braid ****** building hair, window panes and balcony balustrade- are the famous ones of Broadway, with nothing more than their commercial stare.
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tim-knight
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English
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 10:33 AM UTC
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