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Monday, January 12, 2009

Manhattan Project

Old Romans
Big brown Chariots
Gorgeous for the Moonlight
it lights me,
shines down on my eyes
Dead kings dance in back streets
the foul stench burns
feels like I've been crying
Maybe somethings vanished
Who'll dance up there?
We all avoid that square.
This city sleeps
Never did before,
now it never wakes
So let's shake it.
Blind poets free,
should never write of what they see...
Is this why?
Who was the first to tell that lie?
Someone said,
"We are better"
and someone believed.
They all heard
gave themselves names,
grew beards,
and learned bigger words
And then we all died.
Don't feel ashamed,
Manhattan islands all the same.
New Amsterdam,
has gone missing.