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This City is Alive, You Know
This city is alive, you know.
I hear its hoarse voice
In stringent screeches of tires on asphalt
And dull roars of the Hudson against rocky shore.
I feel its breath on my brow
In puffs of foggy smoke seeping through
A row of chimneys on fifty-fourth street.
You know, this city is alive.
This city is alive, you know.
I smell its pungent breath
Foggy air, cigarette smoke, falafel stands
Permeating the curbs of busy intersections
I see its massive limbs
Skyscraper arms stretching into the clouds
Hungrily crowding the Manhattan skyline.
You know, this city is alive.
This city is alive, you know.
I sample its flavor, the spicy rainbow
Of beautifully colored people
From a shaded bench in Central Park
You know, this city is alive.
The people of New York breathe life into New York and
New York is alive.
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I visited New York over spring break, and as I was walking through the streets, this feeling came over me. It felt to me as if the city seemed to have a vitality and life of its own. I decided to write about it in a poem.