Concrete tries to piece together a shattered people

Who litter the ground with shards of themselves.

We are a living example of perfection if you don’t look too closely,

But a revolution runs red in the Hudson.

 

Buildings rip into the limits of the sky, so close yet so far from reaching the moon.

Hands made the buildings, covered in calluses.

But if we think of the hands, then the buildings seem tangible.

We don’t want tangible. We want magnificent. We want something too beautiful to be real.

 

Checkered taxi cabs take our balance with them as they whiz by,

Their horns screaming for help in a city with no time to take care of each person.

We are a people of this city. Not persons.

Persons have problems that are better left unnoticed.

 

The concrete does not have a pulse.

There is always pain behind the synchronicity, and problems that need to be noticed.

We stand together and make a heart beat out of millions.

Without respect for each one, we just might go into cardiac arrest.