by David Huebner
But I'll end it here, looking out at lights, hearing sirens, old brakes, car horns, and the dull blackness of Central Park; a bum in the city, livin' it up for just a while.
Clouds pass over Central Park, rain is falling lightly, lights don't twinkle like they do at home, I guess I'm too close, anyway, falling moon, falling lids, peace.
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