Disjointed Thoughts of NYC in Verse Form

Eyes weighted by strangers faces
tired and wired simultaneously.
The subterranean rumble under tired feet
that don't stop
can't stop
the pulse of the city pounds
until body and city are the same.
The sun shines down but it can't be seen
everyone dances the stop go stop go go
of stoplights, shoes needing to be tied
Something to be bought
something to be consumed
something to be grateful for
something blinking, something blaring
something at all times.
For now it feels good to be lost
in the press of humanity and cement
dwarfed by the collective will
to build up, build beautifully,
to own the ground and the sky.
I wish it was the place for me,
twenty four-hour diners
half-price tickets
but a city needs its beauty sleep.