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New York New York,-- barren city, devoid of color. The gusting winds holler At the pedestrians crossing the zebra. Mercury laps the zero. The passage of time cares not for infants, But here, even nymphets Lack vital signs. And only cold statues Appear to capture The chill that stitches these side streets. Each morning, the eye greets The hung-over clouds, like drying clothes. And each night, the moths Anxiously soar to the lightened candle. The clock strikes the temple With a pulse that can keep you awake At your wake.