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Poem: Leaving New York 

If I write another poem for the city, this time I want

it to be an elegy. Oh New York, you wonderful piece

of shit. You carved out bone. You mystery of rats. The

subway shakes, rattles me awake, but the doubt is

there.


Oh New York, and all your confusion. The people and

their tragedies measured against their neighbor's.


Oh, how your condos shine in the monied air. The

way I can't let go, even when I visit my parents and

ask: Wait, is there anything even open right now?


The city of immigrants, transition, bottomless

brunch. Chris moved to Vegas, and he says it just isn't

as bright.


Oh this city, so ruined by itself.

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