Tuesday, June 4, 2013



Alive, alive, the city is alive
and all abloom with smiles
under the warm and waxing moon

The stern days of winter have faded
from memory and the city is alive.
Streets once grey with soot and sleet
now teem with pale arms and legs.

Heads swivel and twist to take in
the fragrance of the fresh flowers,
all short skirts and décolleté:
We are alive!

A latter day Lazarus ascends
a subway stair and yells “I am alive!”
into the affectionate night air.

Six months hence the grave will call,
but for now we are alive and the city
is paradise.


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