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Times Square art shatters me with its illusion.
It is just another noisy room,
Where the artistic cripple show word and vision,
While the socially imperfect
Don’t listen
Don’t see
Don’t care
I’ve been called too late to the urban slumber.
I’ve over slept and missed the train to my east of Eden comfort.
You can not call my name with the morning sunrise,
Like the rooster calls the dawn.
It is just sirens and shadows that awaken me,
So callus and intruding,
Like 3 am traffic sounding up 10th Avenue.
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